


Things We Have To Do

by xwincesterx



Series: Things We Have To Do [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xwincesterx/pseuds/xwincesterx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are faced with a choice: have sex, or die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural. If I did, I'd probably still be here writing sexytime stories... just because.

Dean awoke with a slightly odd sensation in his head that, only from experience, told him he'd been drugged to unconsciousness at some point beforehand. When he tried to move his hand up to wipe at his eyes, he realized he was bound. That's when he started trying a bit harder to open his eyes.

It was a bit of a struggle, at first. He was trying to remember what, exactly, he'd been doing, last he could remember. What he could remember, was getting back to the hotel with Sam, after taking down a fairly sizable coven of witches, after they'd decided to entertain themselves by forcing people to participate in a "fuck or die" situation. Dean hated witches...

Wait...Sam...

Dean's eyes shot open, then, in search of an answer to whether or not Sam was still with him. Immediately, he realized just where he was. And his bound hands behind the pole at his back, where his torso was also bound to, and his tied feet out in front of him, only solidified his conclusion.

"Ah fuck me!" he grunted.

"I think that's the general idea," Sam's voice sounded somewhere off to his left.

"Sam?" Dean tried to look over.

"Hey just...just don't look at me, okay?" Sam replied.

"Why not? Are you hurt?" Dean asked, a bit fearfully. "Sammy?"

"No... I'm not hurt. Just...just keep your eyes straight ahead, for now. Please, Dean."

Flashes of what they'd found, earlier, played through Dean's mind, and suddenly he was really scared that something was happening to his younger brother, right then. "Sam, is someone else in here?" he ground out.

"No," Sam all but whispered in reply.

"Then why don't you want me to look at you?" Dean asked, but then glanced down at himself, and realized that he was stark naked. "Okay, maybe I have an idea," he decided, "But hell, Sam, it's not like we haven't seen it all before... Gym showers and all."

"That's not it," Sam told him, just as quietly as everything else he'd said.

"Then what, man?"

"I'm getting myself ready," he replied.

"Getting..." Dean thought about that for a moment. Then his face fell and his eyes widened. "Oh hell no!" he shouted. "I thought we took out these damn witches!"

"We did," Sam replied. "Only we overlooked something that should've, honestly, been obvious."

"What's that?"

"Why the hell would witches want to create 'fuck or die' situations for kicks?"

"Because they're twisted, sick fucks! That's why!"

"Well, granted that's...likely part of the problem," Sam replied. "But, remember the witch 'book-club' back in 08?"

Dean narrowed his eyes in thought. Of course he remembered, but what the hell did that have to do with- ...oh wait. "There's a demon runnin' this show," he surmised.

"Yeah. And now we're stuck playing this game."

"We don't have to do a damn thing," Dean grunted, frustratedly.

"You know what'll happen if we don't, Dean," Sam argued. Unfortunately, he did know. He knew all too well, because they'd seen it with their own two eyes. It's what alerted them to the small town, in the first place; bodies turning up...skinned alive. Only, it wasn't like the skin had been cut from their bodies. More like peeled, like a banana. Even Dean hadn't been able to eat the rest of that day, after the visit to the morgue.

"So it's already cursed us," Dean concluded.

"Yeah," Sam told him. "And the longer we wait to do this, the farther she'll get away, and the harder she'll be to catch."

"You saw the demon?" Dean asked, turning to crane his head and look over at his brother, finally actually finding him, now that the haziness had worn off enough.

"Dean! I said not to look!" Sam yelled. But Dean's eyes were wide, and he was unable to look away, no matter how much he might've wanted to, in that moment. It was fascinating. Disturbing as fuck, but fascinating in an...absolute 'I'm going straight back to Hell' kinda way. There Sam was, on his knees, ass in the air, and cheek to the ground. One of his hands was draped behind him, dipped in the crack of his ass, which was glistening from what Dean realized was lube, since there was also a bottle of it beside him. Sam's hand had stopped moving, since Dean looked over. But his fingers were clearly still buried in his hole.

Dean finally shook his head, as if to clear it, and forced himself to look away. "Nononono this can't be happening," he panicked.

"Yeah, I saw her," Sam continued, as if nothing had just happened. "And she doesn't think we'll do this. So we really need to prove her wrong and get it over with, because I'm sure she's already headed out of town, as we speak."

"Fuck...fuck fuck fuck...Sam, untie me," Dean started to go into full panic mode. "We can't... We can't do this. Not like this. Don't wanna hurt you, Sammy."

"You're not gonna hurt me," Sam replied, calmly. "It's why I've been preparing myself since you've been unconscious. It'll be fine. We do what we need to do, just like for every hunt."

"No, Sam, we... I don't think I can do this. I'm...I'm not ready..."

"You've been ready, since we started talking about it, Dean," Sam's voice was getting closer, but Dean was slightly confused about what his brother had just said. He found himself looking down at his crotch, and realizing that Sam was right; he was hard. When the fuck did that happen? He jumped, when he felt a hand on his bare shoulder. "It's okay," Sam told him, in an almost disturbingly calm voice.

"It's anything but okay," Dean replied. "This whole thing is...just plain insane. The fact that I somehow got-it-up for my brother, slightly worrying. You being so level-headed about all of this, quite frankly is starting to freak me the hell out."

"It's just as insane as it was for all the other people they did this to," Sam reasoned, staying there, just behind Dean as he spoke. "You getting-it-up... Well, it's kinda been a while, hasn't it?" meaning since he'd had sex.

"I've been busy," Dean lamely defended.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Dean," Sam replied, without mocking. "I haven't been with anyone in... Well, I mean I haven't...while I've had my soul back, that is." Dean seemed to think a bit on that fact, as if it was some kind of revelation. "And I'm freaking out just as bad as you," Sam claimed. "I'm just...trying to keep relaxed. Because...I kinda need to be..."

Dean took a few moments to mull that statement over in his mind. Somewhere within those moments, he began to hyperventilate, without realizing it, until Sam was suddenly in front of him with his hands on Dean's shoulders and a look of concern on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Dean," Sam tried to pull him out of his panicked state. "I need you on this...Need you to take some deep breaths, okay? If anyone should be panicking, it should be me. But I'm okay, right? Look at me, Dean. I'm okay." Dean looked at Sam's face, trying to register whether or not he seemed scared at all, about any of this. And when he found nothing but acceptance and willingness to continue, he tried to take the deep breaths his brother had requested of him.

After a few calming moments, Dean defaulted to humor. "So...how is it you know so much about this gay sex stuff?"

Sam let out a scoff, though there was a slight grin on his face. "Anal sex isn't just for gay people, Dean. What, you've never had it with a girl?"

"Of course I have," Dean defended. "It just... ya know, it didn't really turn out how...I would've liked for it to. For her, I mean. Wasn't exactly fun for her. She was actually kinda traumatized by the whole thing, and I never tried it again. With anyone."

"It's not gonna be like that, with me," Sam assured him.

"What, you've done this before?" Dean got an incredulous look on his face.

"I've not...been on the receiving end, no," Sam defended. "But I know the proper way to prep someone for it, and I've done that for myself. You're not gonna hurt me, Dean," he told him. Because he knew exactly what his older brother was most afraid of. "And this isn't gonna hurt us," he added. Because he knew exactly what Dean was a close second afraid of. And as Dean searched Sam's face, Sam knew he'd been right about his fears. "We're doing this because we have to. It'll be...awkward for a bit afterward. If we don't do it, we both die. And that witch keeps going around doing this to a lot more people."

"Damnit," Dean thought. "Damn Sam and his fucking logic. Of course we have to do this. We have no choice. There's...nothing stopping us. If it was just us... well hell. No. Even if it was just about us, I still couldn't let him die. Even if it meant him hating me forever..."

"Dean, we're wasting time," Sam pulled him out of his thoughts. "We should get started." Dean seemed unsure of what exactly to do, at that point. But he gave a small, quick nod to Sam. "You can close your eyes, if you want to," Sam suggested, with a sort of sad smile. "Pretend I'm a girl or something."

"Like that's real fair to you," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"I don't have to be hard," Sam retorted. "That's also kinda why I haven't untied you. All you have to do is sit there and pretend. Maybe also not freak out."

"I'm not closing my eyes, Sam," he told him."Gotta make sure you're okay..." he looked away, off to the side of his younger brother. "Let's just...let's just get this over with, before I start freaking out again."

"Okay," Sam was suddenly a bit nervous; his eyes darting a bit in between them. "Can you um...can you close your eyes for just a minute, then? While I um..."

It took a moment for Dean to get what he meant. "Oh. Right," he nodded and clamped his eyes shut.

Sam swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, then stood from where he'd been crouched in front of Dean, and moved to straddle his brother's legs. He grabbed the small bottle of lube and squatted back down, hovering over Dean's lap, then looked up at his brother's face. "Okay...thankfully, this isn't very cold," he told him, as he snapped the cap open.

Dean's eyes snapped open about the same time, fixing his gaze on the bottle, before he realized where Sam was going to pour it. It wasn't until the liquid hit the head of his dick, and Sam's eyes briefly met with his, right as his hand followed to spread the lube over and down the shaft, that Dean slammed his eyes shut and his head jerked back into the pole. He was torn between how absolutely wrong this was, and how damn good Sam's hand felt...

When he chanced to look again, it was when Sam's hand had stopped, and was simply holding it. Dean's eyes opened on Sam's face, first, realizing that the younger man was looking down, concentrating on his current task. And Dean's gaze lowered, noticing one of Sam's hands was holding his own 'parts', sort of up and away, as he lined Dean's cock up and began lowering himself down onto it.

"Sam..." his voice shaking, he found himself in the beginnings of a panic, again, and Sam looked up. Their eyes met, right as Dean felt himself sinking up into the tight, hot heat of his brother's ass. He watched Sam's face, intently, waiting for any sign of pain. But he found himself distracted, the more Sam sank down onto him. And Sam's face, though his eyes had fallen closed, showed no sign of discomfort. Maybe more fascination, than anything.

It took a couple of minutes, but soon, he was fully seated, sitting on Dean's lap, and he let out a breath. Dean waited, biting down on the inside of his cheek, for Sam to open his eyes. "Sammy, you okay?"

Sam nodded, then slowly opened his eyes and met Dean's. "Just...need a minute," he told him.

Dean gave a short, rapid nod. "Does it hurt?" he couldn't help but ask.

Sam shook his head, "No...no," he said, letting out another breath. "Feels...weird, though."

"Come on, Sam. It doesn't hurt? You're an ass-virgin, and I ain't exactly small. Not tryin' to brag or anything, but..." The corners of Sam's mouth curled up into a grin.

"It stung a bit, at first," Sam admitted. "But like I told you, I prepared myself. It wasn't painful," he assured him. Dean looked at him for a moment, noticing the sincerity in his eyes, and nodded. "What about you?" Sam asked, raising his brows. "Doing okay?"

Dean wasn't sure, at first, how to answer that. "Well sure, Sam! Being balls-deep in your ass is the nicest thing my dick's felt in a long time..." seemed like the wrong thing to say. "Not as horrifying as I'd imagined," he replied with, instead.

Sam let out a small, amused laugh. "Yeah, actually...that's kinda what I was thinking, too," Sam replied.

Dean kinda hoped that meant something more along the lines of what he'd been thinking, as opposed to what he'd said aloud.

"Okay," Sam looked off to the side of them, and carefully leaned over to grab a small cloth he'd laid next to the bottle of lube, and wiped off his hands. Throwing the cloth back down, he met Dean's eyes again, "Ready?" he asked. Dean swallowed, as Sam put his hands on Dean's shoulders. He didn't reply to the question, but Sam seemed to be able to read his face enough to know that it was okay.

Slowly, at first, Sam rose up a bit, pulling off of Dean, maybe a quarter of the way, then sank back down. Dean accidentally allowed a small grunt to escape his throat. Then Sam rose up higher, about halfway off of Dean, and then down again, with more confidence. He started a steady rhythm.

Dean couldn't believe how good it felt. Well, sex generally ended up feeling good. But he couldn't believe that even with the awkward facts that surrounded the situation, he was still so completely turned on. He just about hated himself.

But then, on one of the downward thrusts, Sam made this sound, from somewhere in the back of his throat. His head was slightly fallen back; eyes closed. Dean wasn't sure what compelled him to look down, between them. But what he saw, nearly stopped his breath, and most definitely caused something to heat in his belly. Sam was hard. Like, completely hard, and there was a glistening line of pre-come connecting from the slit on the head of his dick, to the taut skin of his abs.

Dean was breathless as his gaze trailed back up to Sam's face. "Sammy," his voice was lower, now, and Sam opened his eyes, picking his head up a bit to look at him. His lust-blown pupils only intensified what Dean was feeling. Sam seemed almost as lost as he was, in every psychological sense of the word. Lost to the feeling; lost at how much they must be completely messed up, for it to feel this damn good.

Dean's eyes must have conveyed something correctly to his brother, because Sam was suddenly pulling forward, ducking his head in the crook of Dean's neck, where it met his shoulder. Sam's hot and heavy breath spilled warmly against Dean's skin, causing it to tingle and spread over his entire body. And as Sam sped up the pace, there was more than just breath on Dean's skin; there were teeth, grazing soft enough not to cause damage, but rough enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

"Sam...fuck," Dean said, breathlessly. "Fucking untie my hands," he pleaded. "Just fucking untie them..." And he was grateful that Sam was complying, without arguing, because he didn't think he could go another minute without-

His hands were suddenly free, and he pulled them in front of him, ignoring the slight ache from having been held in that position for who knows how long, and immediately sought to grab onto both sides of Sam's face. He moved him into view, and their eyes met, searchingly, before Dean drew him in and crushed his lips to Sam's.

As tongues collided, teeth lightly tapping together at the new territory, their groans were in unison, and suddenly Sam felt free to use his own hands for something other than balance. The first thing they did, was pull at the rope around Dean's torso, attempting to remove it.

One of Dean's hands moved into Sam's hair, gripping at the back of it, as he deepened the kiss. The other, traveled down Sam's chest, and to his abs, causing Sam to make an approving sound against his brother's lips. Just as the rope fell free, Dean's hand was wrapping around Sam's erection.

Sam had no choice but to pull from the kiss, slightly shocked by the action. He looked down between them to verify Dean's hand stroking his impossibly hard cock. "God...Dean," he breathed, and looked back up at him. "You don't... have to. I don't have to come. Just you. Technically..."

"Hell no, Sam. We're in this together, all the way. Besides..." he pressed his forehead against Sam's, "I wanna see you... Wanna watch you come from my cock," he couldn't believe he'd just said that to his little brother. They were both a little shocked by the words, but then Sam just kind of melted, right there, moaning like an obscene late-night pay-per-view porn star.

And just like that, Dean had a new mission. It was something he'd always done, but not like this. This was completely different from how he'd always done things... Take care of Sammy... Yes, he would take care of his Sam... "Lean back, baby," Dean whispered to him, no longer surprised by anything currently coming out of his mouth.

"What?" Sam looked confused.

"Trust me," Dean replied, guiding him to lay back, slightly, against Dean's bent thighs. Then Dean, with his new-found leverage since the ropes had been removed, thrust his hips up into Sam. Sam cried out, throwing his head back, at the amazing feeling of Dean's cock hitting his prostate with the sweetest perfection. So he did it again, just to hear that sound.

"Yeah...god, Dean...right there," Sam cried out. "Fuck...fuck me..."

"God, Sammy," Dean couldn't hold back the urge any longer anyway. Leaning back against the pole, Dean gripped tightly onto Sam's waist on either side, and began a steady, slightly rough thrusting pattern, being sure to hit that same spot over and over. It didn't take very long before he felt himself getting close. His right hand left Sam's waist and wrapped back around Sam's cock, jerking it in time with his thrusts. "Come on, Sam.. Want you to come with me... So fucking close, baby..."

"Oh god... Oh god, Dean... Gonna...gonna...oh shit. Oh shit! Dean!" he was coming; moderately pitched moans of ecstasy that no longer formed words, accompanied by streams of thick, white stripes of come on his and Dean's thighs.

The sounds Sam made, and the pulsating, tight heat around Dean's cock, threw him over the edge; hips completely losing their rhythm, jerking wildly up into his brother as his filled him... Whether anything legible came out of his mouth, neither of them would ever know...


	3. Chapter 3

It took Dean some unknown amount of time to come back to his senses, and he realized that Sam still hadn't quite joined him there. His younger brother was lying on the floor, looking blissful and almost like he was passed out. Dean managed to clean the both of them up, and find their clothes near the exit, lying neatly in a box. He shook his head, absentmindedly, at the strange pattern this demon seemed to adhere to.

Dean silently slipped on his clothes and made his way to the window, pulling back the curtain and taking a look out into the darkness, trying to suppress the freak-out that was trying to claw its way out of him. Under a nearby street light, he noticed a familiar car.

"Dean?" Sam's groggy voice sounded, causing him to turn away from the window.

"Hey, Sasquatch," he replied, picking up the other pile of clothes, and tossing it over to Sam. "Get dressed. Looks like the witch-bitch hasn't left yet. We might not have to do a whole lot of chasing, after all."

Sam slightly raised his brows, surprised at the news, and went straight to work slipping his clothes on. Dean slipped on his coat, not taking his eyes off of his brother, appraising him. "You okay, Sam?" he asked.

Sam paused, momentarily, to look up at him. "Yeah. You ready?" he asked as he slipped into his shoes.

"Been ready, bitch. Let's blow this pop stand."

"Yeah yeah, jerk." A mutually shared smirk painted both faces, before they headed for the door.

If not for all the stuff they'd had to do to not die, this would've been the easiest hunt, to date. The demon had indeed assumed she'd outsmarted the Winchesters, and had all the time in the world to dawdle. Her back was turned on them, when Dean approached and sunk Ruby's knife into her back.

They drove her body to a field, to salt and burn, and they stayed in the silence until it was done, and the sun was just starting to make itself known, but only by a soft orange glow, lighting up the sky on the horizon. When Dean turned to look at Sam, he realized the younger hunter was asleep on his feet, just about.

"Come on, Sam," he motioned with his head toward the car. "Let's get outta here. You can sleep on the road."

"Where we heading?" Sam asked, as he followed him.

"West of here," Dean replied, opening the driver side door. "Far away as we can get, before I need to stop and sleep." The lack of questioning or argument, as they piled into the front seat, showed Dean just how exhausted Sam was.

Five hours. Three hundred sixty-two miles, is how far they got, before Dean pulled off in the middle of a particularly long stretch of road that didn't show signs of civilization anywhere in the close future. Sam barely stirred as the tires hit gravel and the car came to a stop. Dean turned off the car and looked over at his brother as he calmly shifted to get comfortable.

"This isn't gonna hurt us," Sam's voice played back in his mind, and he watched the younger man settle back against the seat. Yet he felt worried, anyway. They hadn't talked about it at all. And though that was kind of the way Dean preferred things most of the time, this just...wasn't the same. It wasn't even so much that they hadn't talking about it, but that they hadn't really talked about anything that wasn't pertaining to a hunt or travel.

Truth be told, it was driving Dean nuts. He wasn't exactly sure why, either. But it was a strange feeling, and he didn't like it at all. He wasn't angry at Sam, he thought, as he mulled the situation over in his head. There wasn't something that necessarily needed to be discussed. Not if they were going by the plan they'd set forth in that building.

Still, he felt restless; like there was something he was supposed to do, but he wasn't sure what that was. Frankly, all the thoughts were giving him a headache. So he forced them to stop, and readjusted himself to half-lay against his door and close his eyes.

It was another couple of hours, before Sam woke up to the sound of a semi-truck zooming past them at what had to be twenty miles over the speed limit. It had created a strong enough breeze to rock the car a bit. So Dean had stirred awake, as well.

"Time is it?" Dean slurred, eyes not quite opening.

Sam fished out his cell to look at the clock. "About noon," he answered. "How long have we been stopped?"

"Couple hours. I need a few more," Dean grunted, pushing up from the seat and crawling over into the back like a wounded panther. "You drive."

"To where?"

"To lunch, Sam. 'M hungry," he told him, as he curled up in the back seat in a position that should probably be uncomfortable, but somehow made him look adorable...and no, Sam definitely did not just think that.

_.~._

It was another hour before Sam even found a place to turn off. With Dean still softly snoring in the back seat, which only really happened when he was in such an odd position, he decided to stop and find a motel and book them a room, before figuring out where to eat.

He drove past a couple of them, as the lots seemed pretty full. But ended up stopping at one just as equally packed as the rest of them, as it was the last place in town, and there was no way they were driving anymore for at least a day.

Sam locked his brother in the car, and headed in to the front desk. A balding man with glasses sat in front of a computer screen, clicking away. "You're sorta lucky, ya know," the man told him. "Last room left in town, that isn't literally a storage closet with a cot."

"What's going on that every place is booked?" Sam questioned.

"Oh big big convention in town," he told him. "Ghost hunters or something of that nature."

"Face ghosters, dear," an elderly woman around the man's age said, as she cornered into the room.

"Oh oh yeah...Face... uh. Well, that doesn't seem right..."

"Ghostfacers?" Sam's brows rose.

"Yeah! That's it!" the man smiled. "Silly bunch of nonsense, if you ask me. But these young folks sure do seem to like the entertainment aspect of it." Sam smirked, shaking his head.

"It's not nonsense, Harold," the woman retorted. "You know, just as well as everyone else in this town, why they decided to do their little event here."

"Yes, dear," Harold resigned, taking Sam's credit card. "Oh uh, the room's only got one king in it. That won't be a problem, will it?"

Just a momentary flash of panic hit Sam, before calming. "It'll be fine," he told him. "It's just my brother and me; not like we haven't shared a bed in the past, once or twice."

Harold let out an amused chuckle, as he swiped the card through the machine, "My older brother, Michael, and I used to go camping out in state park here, until the incident. One-man tent, he bought... Told me I could sleep in it with him, or outside with the bears. He was a stinker, my brother," he shook his head, but had a fond smile on his face. "But he was a good brother," he nodded.

Sam let himself absorb the man's shared memory for a moment, not to mention the fact that this was probably the first time there was open opportunity for the 'gay-couple implications', and there was absolutely no doubt in the "we're brothers" response. Ironic.

"Incident?" Sam questioned.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, the reason those Ghoster faces are in town," Harold said as he handed Sam his card back. "Well, story goes, there was a girl, our age at the time...which at the time was fourteen, you see. Name was Sally O'hanson. Went up there and got herself killed. Now, police said it was an accident; that she'd been attacked my some wild animal. But there was rumor that her step-daddy did it."

"That was just a rumor, Harold," the woman said.

"Well, rumor or not, Sally's step-daddy was the sheriff, at the time. Strange family, that was. Far as I can remember, anyway. But it was a long time ago..."

"Why did this bring the...convention here?" Sam asked.

"Well there's a legend," Harold continued. "Every year, on the anniversary of her death, some dumb kids go up into the woods to camp, and see if they can't find her ghost. And well... let's just say, there's always one casualty...always one person that doesn't come back out of there alive."

"Interesting," Sam said. "Well, thanks for the story, sir."

"Not a problem, Mr. Gerowitz," he replied. "Thanks for listening, and not just walkin' away, like most younger folks." Sam gave a small smile. "Here's your key. Check out is eleven tomorrow. If you need an extra night, let me know, so I don't book over you!"

Sam quickly made his way to the car, letting himself in the back seat to wake up Dean, and sat down in the small space left back there. "Dean..." he shook him by the shoulder. "Dean, wake up."

"'m...what?"

"You're never gonna believe this..."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean shifted and forced himself to sit up a bit, rubbing his eyes, "You find a place with good pie?"

"Ghostfacers are in town," Sam told him, flatly. Dean cracked open an eye and looked at him with furrowed brows. "They're holding some kind of ghost hunting convention."

"And you know all this how?"

"Because I stopped and got us the last room left in the entire town, and got the run-down from the guy at the front desk," Sam told him. Dean's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, accepting the answer. "They're gonna try and hunt a ghost."

"Yeah, well that's typically how they work," Dean replied.

"Only, I think there might be something behind this legendary ghost," Sam added, started the car. "So, while you grab something to eat, I'm gonna head over to the library, and then meet up with you at the diner."

"Diner?" Dean sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, it's right next to the hotel. So if you get done before I get back, just bring me back something to the room and I'll meet you there. In fact, here," he handed him the room key. "Don't lose it."

"Don't... Of course I'm not gonna lose it!" Dean retorted, offended. "What do you think I am, a child?" Sam shrugged, as he pulled the car up in front of the diner. Dean looked out the window, up at the sign in front of the eatery. His face brightened. "They do have pie! Best pie in the state, it says, Sammy!" he glanced happily at Sam's reflection in the rear view. Sam was smirking, and the smile quickly faded from Dean's face. "Shut up," he gruffly stated, before letting himself out of the car. "Don't take too long."

"Shouldn't take that long," Sam replied, waiting for Dean to enter the diner, before pulling away...

..

The diner, though clean and inviting, didn't hold Dean's interest enough to eat there. He placed an order to go, for himself and Sam, and headed over to the hotel room, once they brought his bags out. It had taken almost half an hour for them to make the meals, but Dean hadn't minded. If Sam was true to his word, he'd be back before his own meal got cold.

Walking across the parking lot toward the row of rooms, Dean held the take-out bags in one hand and reached into his pocket for the key, to check the room number, then headed in the direction the numbers led him. He passed a few SUV's, one of which a couple of women in their early 20's came out of, and headed toward the room beside the one he was walking toward. They were giggling, which caught his attention as he fumbled with the key at his door. He glanced over at them. They weren't unattractive. But they were wearing something akin to fishing vests and oddly shaped hats that somehow fit right in with their thick-rimmed glasses. They could be twins, Dean thought.

They were both making fairly obvious flirting glances at Dean, from their door. Normally, Dean would jump at the chance, but there was something...off about them. Not evil off, mind you. But...something. Dean glanced back over at the SUV they'd come out of, doing a double-take at the bumper sticker, which read, 'I love Spangler', but instead of the word 'love', there was a heart. Spangler, Dean thought. Ah...Ghostfacers. Oh god... "Kill me," Dean said, under his breath, as he pushed his way inside his hotel room and quickly closed the door behind him.

He flicked the light switch on, and tossed the key on the table, followed by the take-out bags, before glancing around the room. It only took him a moment to process that there was just one bed.

"I stopped and got us the last room left in the entire town," he remembered Sam saying. Well, then...it wasn't intentional. But of course they ended up in a town where there was only one room available, which just so happened to only have one bed, the very same time there's this...thing between them. Well, no...there's not a thing. It's just a...what do they call it? An elephant in the room? Right. There's this elephant between them. How the hell are they all going to fit in this bed?

"Hey," Sam's voice sounded from the door, as he let himself in, startling Dean from his thoughts, as he turned to see him. "Saw you as I pulled in the driveway," he told him. "Kinda can't believe you passed up camp-Barbie twins, just outside," he smirked.

"Yeah, right," Dean shook his head, deciding to shove his previous thoughts far back into the recesses of his mind, where they belonged, and head to the chair farthest from the door, at the table. "More like Spangler-fan Barbie twins."

"Ouch," Sam grimaced. "Did you get turned down?" he set a stack of books down on the bed and headed to the table, as Dean pulled out the food.

"For your information," Dean looked up at him with raised brows, "They were totally checking me out. I'm just not interested in anything but food, right now," he said, popping the top open on the cellophane box holding his triple-decker sandwich. "And even if I wasn't hungry, I don't do Ghostfacer fangirls."

Sam half-grinned as he grabbed onto the second box, "We didn't even know Ghostfacers had fangirls, until like...two minutes ago."

"Yeah, well, now we know. And now they're added to the list of things I don't do."

"Did you put them anywhere near Amazonians?" Sam grinned as he stuck his fork into his fairly large grilled chicken salad.

"Actually, I'd forgotten to add them. They're going right at the top. But the fangirls, they're right under that, with carnival chicks and transvestites."

"What do you have against transvestites?" Sam laughed.

"Too much makeup," Dean replied, without missing a beat.

"Aren't carnival chicks flexible?"

"They also sleep with more freaks than a hooker, Sam. You don't like clowns; I don't do carnie chicks," he said, then took an oversized bite out of his sandwich.

Sam smiled, before sticking a forkful of salad into his mouth, silently acknowledging within his mind the fact that 'Sam' hadn't been near the top of that list. He logged that away, and continued eating.

"So, you find anything out at the library?" Dean asked, around a mouthful of food.

"Yeah," he replied, before swallowing. "Sally O'hanson was sixteen when she was found dead a mile from her family's campsite. Police report says it was a bear attack. But that's not what the locals thought."

"What do they think?"

"Well, the librarian told me that there had been rumors that Sally was being abused by her stepfather," Sam told him. "The guy at the front desk, here, told me people thought the step-dad killed her."

"Stepdad still around?" Dean asked, raising a brow.

"That's where the rumors start seeming more likely. The step-dad, Greg Tutner, supposedly left town right after that. Never heard from him again."

"That doesn't seem suspicious at all," Dean said, sarcastically.

Sam continued, "There have been deaths in those woods every year, on this night, ever since. But get this; those are just the reports that are publicized. Apparently, missing persons reports in those woods have been happening year-round."

"How does that get kept quiet?"

"They get written off as wandering hikers. Those Blue Ridge Mountain trails lead up and down almost the entire east coast. And since a majority of those hikers had been hiking alone, after a thorough search by the local park Sheriff department, it gets handed down the line, until it reaches the end of the trail, so to speak."

"So basically, they figure these hikers just kept on hiking, right into other states?"

"People do it all the time," Sam shrugged. "Extreme back-packing isn't exactly rare."

"And by getting handed down the line, you mean, the next park over?"

"Yeah. And when they do a search and don't find anything, they pass it to the next one down, and so forth. Unless they find some trace of something happening to the hiker, there's really nothing else they can do."

"But you think Sally's ghost is killing them, just like the others that get discovered on the anniversary of her death," he surmised.

"Maybe," Sam replied. "There just...seems to be too many, for it to be a coincidence."

"We're gonna have to go camping tonight, aren't we?" Dean whined.

"Not necessarily," Sam replied. "There's gonna be a ton of people out there, with this convention. I figure Ed and Harry will gather enough information, if something does happen-"

"They're gonna get someone killed out there, tonight," Dean argued. "We can't just sit back here and hope they catch it on tape."

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of finding Sally's grave, and stopping that from even happening," Sam raised his brows. "Disappearances of the anniversary deaths are almost all reported to have happened around 10:30pm. I figure, if we wait till nightfall, salt and burn O'hanson's body, we'll have time to get up to the campsite and verify that everything's good. We might even be able to avoid running into Spangler."

..

The brothers managed to locate the grave of Sally O'hanson, dig it up, salt, and burn it, in time to head up to the campsite before 10:30 that night. What they didn't manage, was to completely avoid the crew of Ghostfacers. Ed and Harry spotted them, though they were standing a ways away from the crowd of fans, off by some trees, simply observing.

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration, when he saw the two men get up and approach them. "Just freakin' great."

"Well if it isn't the Winchesters," Harry said, as they reached them, stopping a couple of feet in front of them.

"Spangler," Dean greeted. "Zeddmore."

"So you guys are fans?"

Sam let out a laugh, as Dean smirked, "Just makin' sure no one get killed on your watch, again."

"If you haven't noticed," Ed chimed in, "The camp is surrounded by several rings of salt."

"We've taken precautions," Harry told them. "And we've got all the necessary equipment to capture the ghost of Sally O'hanson on tape."

"Sorry, boys," Dean said, "But I doubt you'll see any ghosts, tonight."

"Reliable sources have told us otherwise," Harry retorted. "It's why we chose this place to hold our convention."

"Convention," Dean laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe you guys managed to round up enough idiots together in one place."

"They're students of paranormal study," Ed countered, defensively.

"Well, then," Dean grinned, looking more like a grimace, "I guess they chose the right people to do their homework on." And Dean turned and started to walk away, followed by Sam.

"Hey!" Ed called out, offended.

"Just let 'em go," Harry stopped him. "They're the ones missing out."

"Yeah, good luck explaining to all your fans how they wasted a trip," Dean yelled back, without turning around. Harry and Ed narrowed their eyes at them, before heading back to their RV.

"Sure you wanna leave already?" Sam quietly asked Dean, as they continued walking toward the car.

"It's eleven," Dean answered. "Sally hasn't showed. Pretty sure we took care of the problem, and I'm all outta patience for those morons."

"You saw them all of thirty seconds," Sam smirked, slightly amused.

"Twenty-nine seconds too long, in my book."

...

"There's a little bar next to that diner," Dean said as they got out of the car, in front of their hotel room door. "I'm gonna go grab a couple drinks. Wanna come?"

"Nah, I'm good," Sam replied. "I'm gonna grab a shower and get to bed. We should head out, in the morning."

"Right. Okay," Dean nodded, trying not to show the slight pang of disappointment he didn't understand why he felt, at Sam's refusal to go to the bar with him. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Okay. Hey, wait," Sam said, fishing out the room key and unlocking the door, then threw the key to his brother. "In case I'm asleep before you get back." Dean nodded, a small smile on his face, as he shoved the key into his coat pocket.

Sam watched as Dean walked away, toward the bar, for a few moments, before letting himself into the room. He shut the door, locking the knob, before heading toward the shower. Fact was, he was horny as hell, and being around Dean was only making it worse. He needed to get it out of his system, especially since they were sharing a bed, tonight.

Sam stripped of his clothing, after starting a steamy shower. The tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner sitting on the soap dish, seemed inadequate for anyone's use. He'd need to ask the front desk for more, so Dean could shower in the morning.

Climbing into the tub, Sam let the hot water cascade down his back for a few moments, before tilting his head under the spray. He tried to just use half the bottle of shampoo to wash his hair, using the suds to wash his skin. His hands skimmed across his stomach, and the muscles there, fluttered, as his memory flashed of the previous night, when Dean's hand had touched him there.

"Shouldn't be thinking of Dean..." he thought, as his hand grazed lower, grabbing on to his half-hard cock. He let out a groan as he stroked it completely to life, remembering Dean's hand on him, there, as well. "Stop...stop thinking about that," he chided himself. "Think about someone else. Think about a girl... Think about..." he squeezed harder, remembering Dean's words.

"I wanna see you... Wanna watch you come from my cock..." Dean's voice was so clear in Sam's head. Sam's eyes slammed closed, pressing his forehead on the cool tile in front of him, giving in to his thoughts.

He remembered how it felt; Dean inside of him. That spot he kept hitting, that had forced him over the edge. He wanted...no he needed to feel it again. Sam reached back, behind him, bending over just a bit more, as his fingers sought out his hole. It wasn't a time-consuming task, as he could still feel it slightly aching. He was still a bit loose from the previous night's activities, and his finger slid in with ease. Sam couldn't hold in the groan, as he found his prostate, and thoughts immediately swam back to Dean...

"God, Sammy..." Dean said as he leaned back, quickening his thrusts. "Come on, Sam... Want you to come with me... So fucking close, baby..."

Sam fucked himself with his finger, quickening the strokes on his cock with his other hand, and balancing himself with his forehead against the tile; his breath loud and noisy, and his heart pounding in his chest...

...

Dean frustratedly shook the locked door of the bar, peering inside at what he now realized was a closed-down establishment. "Sonofabitch," he grunted. He'd needed a couple of drinks. He'd needed to stop thinking about Sam. Well, he needed to stop thinking about fucking Sam, anyway. He thought maybe a couple shots, and a quick wank in the bar's restroom, would get him through the night in the shared bed with his brother.

To hell with it. There was whiskey in his bag, back in the room. Sam was probably in the shower. He could probably finish both tasks before he got out of the bathroom.

Decided, Dean briskly headed back to the room, using his key to let himself in, quietly. Sam didn't need to know he was back, just yet. He silently closed and locked the door, setting the key down on the table, and reaching for his bag. But he stopped short, hearing a moaning come from the bathroom.

For a split second, he thought maybe Sam was hurt, and he headed to the bathroom door to investigate, until he heard it again. That wasn't a moan of pain, Dean was sure. And he found himself suddenly and painfully hard.

"Shit shit shit," he chided himself. "I shouldn't be listening to this. Shouldn't be hard for my little brother's pleasured moaning. Shouldn't be touching myself when he's-" Dean let out a frustrated breath, not even having noticed at first, that his palm was pressing against the front of his pants. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop listening, and he couldn't walk away.

His forehead pressed against the small section of wall beside the bathroom door, as he listened for Sam; tried to make out the sound of what Sam was doing, in there. He pictured him under that spray, touching himself, and closed his eyes tight.

"No. I can't do this," Dean told himself. Then he moved to step away, but suddenly Sam got louder, and Dean found himself gripping the wall in indecision.

"Oh god..." Sam called out. "Dean!" followed by his obvious coming. And instantaneously, Dean was coming in his pants, unable to bite off a sudden shout of his own, hoping Sam was too lost in the throes of ecstasy to have heard it...


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was about to come; he could feel it building, tingling down his spine. He couldn't help what he yelled out, as it overcame him. Hips stuttering without rhythm, as he rode the wave, he thought he'd heard something. It was as if his voice carried out of the room and bounced back to him, only...it didn't sound like his own. It sounded familiar, but... Oh God...No it couldn't be. Dean had gone to the bar...

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, rinsing himself as he still recovered from the post-orgasmic haze. He needed to make sure he hadn't been heard...

..**..

Dean panicked after coming down off the high of his sudden and strong orgasm. He could tell that Sam was hurrying to get out of the shower, and Dean needed to make himself scarce. He quickly glanced around the room, heading to his bag and retrieving the whiskey bottle he'd come for. No sense in trying to return sober, if he planned to keep his story intact. He grabbed the key off of the table and quickly, yet stealthily let himself out the door, silently closing it, and very gently inserting the key to lock it from the outside.

That very moment, Sam came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist; still dripping wet and out of breath. He looked around the room, then let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he was alone. He went back into the bathroom to dry off properly...

…

Outside, Dean was walking. He wasn't sure to where, exactly. But at the moment, he was headed toward the diner.

Many things were going on inside his head. One of them being the fact that he couldn't remember ever having come that abruptly, in his entire life. It was almost shameful, had it not felt so downright rewarding at the time. And since he'd been alone, he guessed it really didn't matter how fast it had been.

But that brought him to another thought; his underwear were a sticky mess. His only options were to walk around like that, until he could head back to the room and make quick charge to the bathroom to clean himself up, or to go to the diner and use their facilities. Seeing as it'd be risky to whip out his bottle of whiskey in a parking lot and start guzzling it down, without someone calling the cops, he figured maybe using the diner could serve multiple purposes. So he headed there.

"Welcome back, sugar," the waitress called out, as Dean entered. Dean looked in the direction of the lively voice, to see the waitress who'd served him that morning. She was older, maybe in her fifties, with curly red hair that, if it wasn't a dye-job, Dean would be extremely surprised. She was nice. She had spunk. Dean liked her.

"Hey, Glata," he gave a shied smile, not forgetting what had happened just minutes before. "You live here or somethin'? Why are you here so late?"

"Be easier if I did live here," she replied. "A girl called in; I offered to stay. Don't have much else goin' on, and I can't leave Eddie here all by himself. He's liable to burn the place down," she said loud enough, turning her head in the direction of said cook, so he could hear her.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie, who was at least Glata's age, muffled his reply from the back, nonchalantly.

Glata smirked and looked back to Dean, "What can I getcha, darlin'?"

"Just a coffee, please," he told her. "I'm gonna go use the restroom, first..."

"I'll save you a spot at the bar," she called after him as he walked toward the restrooms. Dean glanced briefly to the empty seating at the bar, and smirked back at her.

The bathroom was as empty as the restaurant. Dean was grateful, and locked the door behind him. He took the whiskey bottle from his jacket and set it on the counter, before shrugging out of his coat and hanging it over the paper towel dispenser. Sliding his jeans down, Dean inspected the mess, considering his options. There was no way he'd be comfortable staying in these things any longer. Not to mention, it was making it impossible to stop thinking about Sam. He shrugged out of the jeans, altogether, after slipping his shoes off. Then he peeled out of the ruined underwear and tossed them in the trashcan. Wetting a paper towel, Dean cleaned himself up, then dried, and shrugged his jeans back on, followed by the shoes.

He took two long swigs from the whiskey bottle, before slipping his coat back on and putting it back in the pocket. He studied himself for a moment, in the mirror, making sure everything was in place, before heading out of the restroom.

Sure enough, Glata was standing at the bar on its other side, setting a mug down when she saw Dean emerge. She picked the coffee carafe up from it's warmer, and poured some into the mug, as he made his way over.

"Thanks, Glata," Dean smiled at her.

"Welcome, honey," she replied, then placed the coffee back on its warmer. "You gonna share?" she asked.

"Excuse me?" Dean raised an inquisitive brow.

"Well, the bar next door has been closed down for a week now," she said. "And your breath smells like you just had a fairly fine-labeled spot of whiskey. Now either my restrooms got a new dispenser I don't know about, or you've brought your own."

"I- I'm sorry. I'll go..."

"You don't have to go, honey," she smiled at him. "Just gotta share with the class." Her bright, almost sparkling toothy smile was contagious, and Dean let out a small laugh, before pulling the bottle from his jacket...

..**..

Sam was a bit exhausted, after the events in the shower. He'd gotten dressed in a tee shirt and an old pair of shorts, for bed, and had been trying to arrange himself on the bed, in some fashion that wouldn't seem...hell, he didn't even know what he was doing, really. And once he came to that conclusion, he stopped, letting out a sigh, and pulled the covers up to his waist, twisting onto his side, facing the wall. Dean usually took the bed closest the door, so Sam was letting him have that side of the bed.

He closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep before Dean got back, just so that he didn't have to look his brother in the eye and hope he couldn't see what he'd done in his absence. As tired as he was, however, he couldn't shut his mind off long enough to actually drift into unconsciousness. He kept thinking about Dean; about that night. As completely messed up as it was, Sam wanted him. He wanted to forget it, and move past it, and let it go like he should, because Dean was his brother. It was wrong to want that from him.

What they'd done, was unexpectedly pleasurable. Not to say Sam had never thought, in very very small and brief moments, of his brother in that way. He was a guy. He'd been through puberty at one point in his life, and wet dreams came in every variety imaginable. Or well, they had for him. But he'd always cast it aside. It was an unfathomable fantasy that he'd never allowed more than a passing thought before extinguishing as soon as possible. But now...now he'd had a taste. Now there was no foreseeable way to put out the fire that was lit brightly in his mind, and...other areas. He'd have to do a lot of burying. A lot of...shoving into a pit in his stomach, like Dean did with everything else, and maybe start drinking to dull the painful fullness, and unfathomable emptiness that that would inevitably cause.

There was a little voice in his head, telling him that there was hope; that Dean wanted it, too. He'd gotten hard for Sam, in that warehouse, without being touched or coerced. Just mentioning what they had to do...with each other, at that, and Dean had gotten hard. And Dean had kissed him. Sam hadn't started that. Well, maybe he had, nipping at Dean's neck the way he had. But Dean clung to the side of his face, and kissed him like he was his long-lost lover, finally found...

Fuck! Stop thinking like that! Sam chided himself. Dean doesn't want you like that. He did what he had to, to keep us alive. That's what he always does. And you're gonna repay him like this? Lusting after him? Jacking off, with your fingers in your asshole, screaming his name when you come? You're fucking disgusting! Stop it, now! Before he finds you out, and leaves you for good!

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing not only thoughts, now, but impending tears as well. He didn't want Dean to leave. He didn't want him to hate him, resent him... There had to be something he could do to make this all just stop.

His mind was so consumed, that he didn't hear Dean enter. Though it had been the elder's intention to quietly enter, in the first place. It took Dean a total of maybe thirty seconds, even in a slightly drunken state, to realize that something was wrong with Sam. He slid off his jacket, hanging it on the chair, and without thinking it completely through, decided to climb onto the bed and over to Sam, as opposed to walking around it to get to him.

"Sam, you okay?" he asked, as his knees dipped onto the bed.

Sam jumped, startled at the sudden presence of his brother, and swiped at his own face to clear away the tears he hadn't even realized he'd shed. "Dean? W-what...how long have you been here?"

"Jus' came in. What's wrong, man?" he asked, laying a hand on Sam's bicep. Sam slowly turned onto his back, and met Dean's eyes. He bit at the inside of his lip, taking in the flushed look on his brother's face, and the faint smell of whiskey and...coffee, he guessed, coming from his slightly parted lips. His heart fluttered, and he grimaced, chiding himself again, for feeling this way. "Sammy?" Dean looked worried, and moved his hand to Sam's cheek. "Why're you crying?" he asked, swiping a stray tear with his thumb, though Sam hadn't been aware he'd started again.

"Nothing," Sam shrugged away, trying to turn from him, so he wouldn't have to explain.

"C'mon, Sam. Don't be like that," he scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him, and rested his head so his mouth was near to Sam's ear. "What's wrong? Just talk to me. Are you feeling sick? Are you hurt?"

God but Dean was drunk. He got all overly concerned and cuddly, acting like Sam was a little kid that needed coddling, when he'd been drinking and wasn't in a crappy mood to begin with.

"No. 'm not sick," Sam replied.

"Please, just talk to me, Sam," Dean moved, pushing up on his elbows and turning Sam back onto his back so he could look him in the eyes again. "I can't help you, if you don't tell me what's goin' on."

A mixture of emotions flitted through Sam's chest, and across his face. He needed to push Dean off of him; make him stop making this so difficult for him. But he didn't wanna hurt Dean. Sam had been the one to insist that what they'd done, wouldn't change them.

"I'm...I...I'm just really tired, and I can't sleep," he told him, which wasn't a lie, really. He knew Dean wouldn't buy that.

"Is that all?" Dean asked, a small smirk gracing his lips. "C'mere," he settled back down, kicking off his shoes and scooting himself under the covers beside Sam, who was frozen in place on the bed, trying to figure out what Dean was doing. "Turn around, Sam," he told him, as he moved closer.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, and Dean met fearful, panicked eyes.

"I...I was just gonna hold... so...so you could sleep- oh god..." Dean pulled away and sat up, running a hand down his face as his heart pounded in his chest. Had he misheard, earlier? Had he been wrong? Was Sammy terrified of him? "You're uncomfortable around me now. I'm totally creeping you out- You can't be around me, can you..."

And suddenly, Sam was sitting up in front of him, a hand on Dean's shoulder as he sought out his eyes, "No, Dean!" he assured him. "That's not it. I'm not uncomfortable around you. Not at all. That's not it at all, okay?" Dean looked at him, worriedly, unconvinced. "Let's...let's just go to sleep, okay?" Sam moved to lay back down, trying to lead Dean to do the same.

"I'll...I'll just move back to my side; leave you alone," Dean told him.

"Please don't," Sam met his eyes, sadly. Sam realized, in that moment, that he couldn't bear it if Dean were to start pulling away from him, now. He wasn't going to let this change them... Sam succeeded in leading Dean to lay back down, and they were now facing each other. Wordlessly, Sam burrowed his head into Dean's chest, wrapping an arm loosely around Dean's side; the other curled in front of him.

Slowly and cautiously, Dean placed his free arm, the one not currently pillowed beneath Sam's head, around Sam's back. When Sam's reaction was snuggling closer, Dean let the full weight of his arm rest on Sam, and he ducked his head, placing a silent kiss on the top of Sam's hair. His heart finally relaxed, and the whiskey began taking over, and pulled him, within minutes, to sleep.

Sam stayed awake a little longer, relishing in the feel of being held in Dean's arms, regardless of what it may or may not mean. He breathed in his scent, registering that he didn't smell at all like a bar. Aside from his breath, Dean smelled simply of outside, and a bit of coffee. His brain was trying to tell him what that might mean. But before it could complete the thought, Sam drifted off to sleep...


	6. Chapter 6

The first sign of sunlight, pulled Sam from sleep. Only, he wasn't exactly in the same position he'd fallen asleep in. That, in itself, wasn't so unusual. But the fact that he was draped halfway over his brother, was a bit... well, he didn't know what to do about that. He was sure, by the steady, deep rhythm of Dean's breathing, that he was still asleep. He didn't want to make any sudden movements that would wake him. But he wanted to extricate himself from the position, for a few reasons.

One, being that his cock seemed to have taken interest in its contact with Dean's body, before his brain was actually aware it was touching him, through his shorts.

From where his head lay, Sam could see Dean's jacket hanging on the chair. And he could see the top of the bottle of whiskey sticking out of the inside pocket. A bottle that Sam knew had been in Dean's bag. The bag he brought into the room last night as Dean left for the bar...

Oh god... Dean had been in the room last night. That was him. He'd heard Sam, and he'd come right after Sam had. He'd made that noise; that shout of ecstasy...listening to Sam's. And judging by the impressive lump that was nudged up against the inside of Sam's thigh, Dean's cock seemed to be just as aware as his own. Maybe their cocks were soulmates. Would that make them cockmates? he wondered, but forced the ridiculous, yet amusing thought, from his head.

Sam stayed perfectly still as he tried to calculate it all in his head. Dean hadn't been avoiding him, by saying he was going to the bar. He'd been avoiding this; trying to shove down what he felt, just like Sam had been. If he'd been disgusted by what he'd heard last night, he wouldn't have been so quick to be so near him, when he got back to the room.

Assuming that his assumptions were correct, he wondered what that should mean. Or rather, what should happen from that point. If Dean actually felt the same way Sam did...do they continue stomping it down? Or do they...do something completely and totally...outrageous?

They'd have to figure that part out, together, because Sam heard the change in Dean's heart rate, indicating that he was awake and aware, now. Sam took a breath, then slowly pushed himself up, to meet Dean's eyes. Their faces were mere inches from each other. Sam watched Dean for signs; good or bad. But Dean seemed to look at him in surprise and awe, and for some reason, that made Sam smile. He watched as Dean's gaze flickered down to Sam's mouth, then back up to his eyes. That was the sign he'd been looking for.

Sam cautiously lowered toward him, giving Dean plenty of time to push him away. If he did, then Sam would know this wasn't going to happen, and he could blame it on sleep; he wasn't fully awake...or something like that. But Dean made no such hesitant moves, and Sam's lips finally met his.

Dean pulled a breath in, through his nose, when Sam's lips pressed against his. He'd woken up with a hard-on that he prayed Sam couldn't feel. But then realized Sam had one, too. And Sam had been awake, making no move to escape, though Dean gave him a decent amount of time before letting it be known that he was up, too. But then Sam was kissing him, and everything was insane and awesome, and completely wrong and absolutely the best thing ever, and so he must still be asleep and dreaming...

Oh well. If it was a dream, he sure as hell was gonna take advantage of it. Dean snaked his arms around Sam's back, pulling him more fully on top of him, and holding him there as they deepened the kiss. Sam groaned against Dean's mouth, as their erections met, and he ground his hips against Dean's, forcing a groan out of the older Winchester. Then he felt Sam tugging on the waist of his jeans, successfully yanking them down, almost halfway down his thighs, which made him have to separate their mouths temporarily. Dean looked at Sam with surprise and a bit of nervousness, and watched as Sam pulled down his shorts, concentrating more on his task, than anything, and straddled Dean. That's when his eyes met Dean's, again.

Their mouths open, panting as they seemed momentarily paused, Sam seemed to be trying to read Dean's expression, and vice versa; as though they both wanted and needed to be sure that this was what they wanted. Well...this, and...more. Dean reached up to cup the side of Sam's face, and when his hand gently settled against his skin, the answer was clear, and Sam was diving back down into the kiss, more hungrily, this time. And Dean felt Sam's large hand wrap around them both, giving both cocks a few, strong strokes, before pulling his hand away, and simply pressing his hips into him.

Slippery from each others precome, their cocks glided alongside each other. They were both moaning into each others mouths, now; the sensation so much better without the restriction of clothing. Dean's hands trailed down to Sam's ass, pressing him more firmly into him, on Sam's downstrokes; Dean's hips pressing up at the same time. Both of them were approaching an embarrassingly quick end, but it felt so good, neither of them wanted to slow down.

But suddenly, Sam was pulling away, slightly, and Dean watched as he pressed two fingers to his mouth, gathering spit on the tips. Dean swallowed at the sight, thinking of what Sam might do next. He wondered if Sam had done this in the shower the night before. But before he got lost in that thought, he felt Sam's hand brush down past his cock, and his head jolted up to look.

"Sam, what-"

"Sshh," Sam looked at him. "Trust me, okay? I want...want you to feel it. Want you to know..." And sure; if Sam could take it, so could Dean, he reasoned. "Just relax, and trust me?" Sam asked again. But now, Sam was moving down the bed. And it took everything in Dean, not to come right there, as Sam's face lowered to his cock.

"Oh Jesus..." Dean breathed as Sam's mouth lowered onto him, about halfway. His hand took hold of the rest of him, while his spit-slick fingers rubbed circles at Dean's entrance. On the first suck, Dean relaxed enough for Sam to press his finger in. He had to pause, when Dean tensed again. But as he resumed the blow job, which, consequently, was somehow not nearly as difficult as Sam thought it would be, Dean relaxed again. It didn't take long to find the bundle of nerves Sam was looking for. "Oh gah-hod!" Dean shouted when Sam pressed against it, giving a hard suck at the same time.

"Good, right?" Sam asked, as he pulled off of Dean's cock for a moment. Dean looked at him, pleadingly, desperation in his eyes as he panted for air. "Want me to keep going?" Sam knowingly asked, with a smirk. Dean answered only by fisting the sheets beneath his hands. Sam smiled, then went right back to his task; hot mouth engulfing him again, and his finger working inside of Dean.

Dean slammed his head back down on the pillow, letting out of grunt of pleasure that he wasn't even a hundred percent certain was coming from him. "Fuck, Sammy," he groaned, finding his voice again. "Oh god..."

Sam grinned around Dean's cock, pressing his own into the mattress, just to relieve the pressure. He was even more turned on when Dean's legs opened wider, feet flattening on the mattress top. He could tell that it was taking everything in Dean not to move. But Sam wanted him to. He wanted to make him lose control; the way he felt when he wanted to make Dean feel good. That feeling always made him do things he never thought he'd ever want to do to a man; never mind that it was his own brother. He wasn't even sure where the ideas came from, only that they just came to him as he went. Like now... Sam had the clever inclination to use a second finger, pressing surprisingly easily into Dean.

Dean must have liked it, if his struggled cry was any indication. And suddenly, Sam didn't even have to move his fingers, because Dean was undulating his hips, fucking himself on Sam's digits, like he'd been doing it all his life. That just rose the heat of Sam's blood even higher. That, and the noises escaping his brother's mouth.

Sam moaned around Dean's cock, subconsciously. Before he could think much of it, Dean's hand was in his hair, tightly fisting the locks on the back of Sam's head. Sam peered up and met Dean's eyes. There was a look of pure lust and determination in them, that seemed to burrow into him and latch onto his soul. He couldn't even tell when Dean started thrusting up into his mouth, in the addition of down onto his fingers. But Dean's hand was holding his head, steadily, strongly in place as he did so. Sam would've panicked, had his hand not already been on the lower half of Dean's shaft. He was pretty sure he'd have choked, otherwise, and he didn't think he'd be able to deep-throat. As many times as he'd been choked in his life, things like that sometimes scared the crap out of him.

But this is what Sam had wanted to happen; to see Dean lose control, all because of him. So he watched him, as best he could from that angle; Dean's face twisting and contorting with impending orgasm. It took just moments more, before all rhythm left the table, and Dean was shouting obscenities and gibberish words, sprinkled with his brother's name, while Sam accepted the hot, creamy liquid that flooded into his mouth, almost directly down his throat, which made it fairly simple to just swallow down, without thinking about it.

When Dean's hand fell, limply, from Sam's head, Sam looked back up at him. His head was fallen back on the pillow, chest rising and falling with effort to regain breath. He looked completely fucked out, and that made Sam extraordinarily pleased. Sam released Dean's softening cock, and crawled back up his brother's body, until his face hovered a bit over Dean's, propping himself up on his elbows as he studied Dean's blissful expression; closed eyes. He wanted to memorize it.

But then Dean's eyes opened, looking directly and deeply into Sam's. His gaze flickered over Sam's face, for a moment, noting his red swollen, spit-slick lips, and met his eyes again. "That was... Sam, that was..."

"Good?" Sam smiled, raising his brows.

"Fucking amazing," Dean corrected, noting the sudden shyness. He brought his hands up to either side of Sam's face, eyes bright and wide as they darted back and forth between Sam's. "You're fucking amazing, Sammy," he told him, then pulled him down to capture his lips with his own. Sam melted into him, opening his mouth as Dean did. Dean could taste himself in Sam's mouth, and the mixture of them both, caused his next breath to shudder from his chest...

And suddenly, there was a banging on the door, halting everything. Dean wanted to ignore it. But it kept going.

"Come on, guys! We kinda need you!" they heard from the other side of the door.

"Fucking Spangler," Dean groaned.

"I'll make him go away," Sam rolled off of him, tucking himself back into his shorts, and pulling his shirt down. Dean quickly yanked up his jeans and fastened them, and pushed to sit up against the headboard. Sam opened the door. "What, man?" he asked, annoyed.

"We have a huge problem," he told him, pushing past Sam, into the room.

"Well, come on in," Sam said, sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

"You were right," the Ghostfacer told them. "Sally's ghost didn't come, last night."

"And you felt the need to deliver this news personally, because?" Dean asked, impatiently.

"Because something else did," he told them. "And it was a man. I mean a ghost...man. A few people started packing up to leave around midnight, when Sally didn't show. That's when he showed up," he said, nervously. "Three people are dead," he told them, voice shaking. This surprised the hunters.

"Three?" Sam narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't fit the profile of how these killings have been happening, at all."

"Did you see the ghost?" Dean asked, sitting up off of the headboard, now interested.

"Yeah," Spangler replied. "I saw him, for maybe a few moments. He was standing there, outside of the salt circle, you know... I turned around to grab my camera, and when I looked back, he was gone. Then...then there was screaming..."


	7. Chapter 7

They were in the Impala, following behind Spangler as they made the trip back up to the camp site. "Sorry we had to leave you hangin', Sammy," Dean said, glancing over to his brother. "I thought this ghost crap was taken care of."

"We missed something," Sam replied. "And uh...it's not your fault, ya know. I think I'll live, anyway."

"What are we doing, Sam?" Dean looked at him, then back to the road. "I mean...do you want this?"

"Was I unclear about what I want, back at the hotel?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"No! I mean...no," Dean said. "I just... This is... This is kinda big," he looked over at him, again.

All frustration left Sam's face. "Yeah, I know. I didn't mean... I mean, I know I said this wouldn't change us. I'm sorry... If you don't want this-"

"Was I unclear about what I want, back at the hotel?" Dean retorted.

Sam thought back, about what happened in the room before they were so rudely interrupted. He thought about how Dean lost control; how he fucked himself on Sam's fingers, and up into his mouth. How he shouted his release, holding Sam's head...

"No," Sam said, breathlessly, shaking his head, as if the word hadn't actually formed. His palm pressed down the length of his re-hardening shaft through his jeans, absentmindedly relieving a bit of the tension.

Dean saw this and swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. He focused his eyes back on the road. Then he let out a small laugh. "Ya know," he started, "All the years I forced any thoughts or feelings that ever popped into my head about you...and here we are, anyway..."

Sam's head shot in his direction, eyes wide. "What?" his voice cracked. His chest kinda burned, and something in his stomach fluttered with a mixture of disbelief and eternal joy.

"Yeah, I...I wasn't gonna tell you this, because it kinda makes me a freak."

"I've been in love with you since the seventh grade," Sam spat out. The look Dean tossed him, was priceless. The car swerved a bit, and Dean got it under control, before Sam continued. "I just...would never let myself think about it. I shoved it all down, and never let it stay in my head, because if I let myself feel that way, then I really was a freak. So I ignored it. I ignored it my whole damn life, Dean. And what happened in that warehouse," he shook his head in disbelief, "I didn't want that- I mean, I didn't want it to be how it... uh... I'm trying to figure out how to word this..."

"You didn't want it to give you away."

"No," Sam said, without hesitation. "No. I didn't want it to bring it all back out again. And then after... when you made me..." his breathe sped up again. "I didn't think that would happen. That'd it'd feel so... But it did. And then I couldn't stop thinking about it..."

Dean tried to play it off cool, like Sam's words hadn't just melted through him and made everything in the whole fucked up world suddenly okay. He tried to concentrate on the road, but could see Sam's hand moving in his lap again, and he glanced over. "Geez, Sammy. Can't go up to the site like that," he motioned to the ridiculous bulge in the front of his pants. "Go ahead. Take care of yourself, Sam. We've got another ten minutes of drive time."

Sam's breath sped up as nerves washed over him, and he looked over at Dean, fully now, maybe suddenly a bit sheepish.

"Aw come on, Sammy. Don't be shy," Dean smiled. "Napkins in the glove compartment," he winked.

Sam saw past the cockiness, and saw the desire in his brother's eyes. That gave him a sudden burst of confidence, and suddenly he found himself unfastening his jeans and yanking them down some.

"Atta boy," Dean said, just short of his voice cracking in the process. Sam got straight to work, gathering the glistening precome from the head of his cock, and stroking firmly all the way down the shaft, letting out a light groan of satisfaction. He knew it was turning Dean on. He bit down on his bottom lip and looked over at him. Dean was trying really really hard not to look away from the road.

"Dean?" Sam said, innocently. "You wanna watch, don't you?" he asked, knowingly. He watched Dean's jaw work, and his hands tighten around the steering wheel. Sam didn't look away from him as he continued to stroke, lazily yanking, then reaching down to his balls. He tugged on them, making another groan that caused Dean to glance over, without turning his head. That's when Sam moved his finger lower, back behind his balls, and let out an open-mouth groan of pleasure as he circled his hole with precome-slick finger-tips.

"Geez, Sam," Dean breathed. "Kinda gettin' me all worked up over here."

"Good. I want you to help me," Sam told him.

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?" he glanced over.

"Want you to fuck me," Sam told him.

The car jerked, wildly, and Dean brought it under control again, "Sam, I'm kinda drivin'..."

"So, pull over," Sam pleaded. "We can catch up to them." Dean looked torn. "Please, Dean. Won't take too long. I'm already close. Just...wanna feel you inside me..."

Dean screeched the car off the road, pulling up beside a shut down gas station, and decided to go around back. He threw the car into park and barely turned the ignition off before Sam was meeting him halfway to crash their mouths together. Sam's hand grappled at Dean's jeans, practically tearing them open.

"Glove compartment," Dean said, between kisses.

"Can get napkins out later," Sam argued.

"Condom, Sam."

"Don't need it."

"You wanna walk around camp all day with come dripping out your ass, be my guest." That seemed to make Sam stop and think. He decidedly reached over to the glove compartment and fetched the condom, handing it to Dean. Then he flipped over, turning around in the seat, facing away from Dean, and yanked his own jeans down, almost to where his knees touched the seat. He reached into the glove compartment and grabbed the napkins, throwing them down on the seat, before setting his hands on the door where it met the window.

Spit-slick fingers didn't need to work long, to stretch Sam enough, before the younger Winchester was begging for him to start already. And Dean realized, as he buried himself into his brother, that this was the first they were actually having sex, uncoerced, voluntary, full-blown sex. In the Impala, at that. In public. This was so many kinds of illegal where they were right now. Dean couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Fuck yes!" Sam shouted, once Dean was fully seated. As if Dean's cock was a heroin fix Sam had been dying for for days now. "Please...Dean, please..."

"God, Sam... Feels so godamn good..."

"Please... fuck me, Dean, come on. Come on!"

"Fucking bossy," Dean retorted, pulling out and slamming back in.

"Mmm... We've got a job, remember- fuck!"

"Yeah, yeah..." the banter seemed ridiculous, and soon died out amidst the overpowering cries of pleasure. Sam came first, his head slamming against the side of the door as he lost balance in the intensity of it. And the clamping, pulsing of Sam's ass around Dean's cock, pulled Dean over with a shout and a grunt and a "Fuck, Sam..."

*...*...*

"Took you so long?" Spangler asked, as Sam and Dean piled out of the Impala and strode toward them. "One minute, you were behind us. Next thing, you're no where to be found."

"Had to make a pit stop," Dean explained. "Don't be a bitch. We were like five minutes."

"Yeah, just...show us where they found the body," Sam suggested.

"Fine," Spangler replied, and turned to head up the trail. Sam and Dean shared a glance, then followed behind him...


	8. Chapter 8

"Alright, so," Dean said around a mouthful of food, before swallowing it down, "We definitely don't think we missed anything of Sally's; this is definitely another ghost," he verified with Sam, as they ate their lunch in the car, after having seen where the latest victims died.

"Doesn't make sense," Sam agreed. "What happened up there, doesn't fit the profile of what's been happening all these years."

"Right. It's not like we pissed her off and she's upped her kill, or something."

"Well, the bodies still looked like it could've been mistaken for an animal attack," Sam reminded him. Then he got this distant look on his face, as though he were searching for an answer he knew was in his head already, but couldn't figure out where he'd tucked it away at.

"What?" Dean asked, around another mouthful of his lunch, after having taken a large bite and looking over at Sam.

"The stepfather," Sam said.

"The one that skipped town?"

"What if he didn't skip town?" Sam tilted his head, inquisitively, as he looked to Dean.

Dean furrowed his brows, swallowed his mouthful of food, and then caught on, "You think he was killed, too?"

"It would explain how he suddenly disappeared and was never heard from again. He was the Sheriff, at the time. You'd think he would've at least attempted to simply cover it up."

"Yeah, but why change up how many people he's killing, now?" Dean inquired.

"I don't know," Sam shook his head. "Maybe...maybe Sally was...stopping him, somehow."

"And we just took her out, so now he's got nothin' holdin' him back," Dean concluded. "Like the uh...thing at Chuck's book convention."

"Exactly like that, if we're right," Sam said. "I'm gonna go down to the Sheriff's office; see if there's anyone around that was there while Greg Tutner was Sheriff. Chances are, if he was killed out in those woods, and he's killing in threes now, it's likely there was a group of people that ganged up on him."

"You think they were people that worked for him?"

"It was a different time, back then. I think they'd have done it to honor the girl he'd killed, yeah."

"Okay. Well, I'll head to the hotel and go through those papers you brought back from the library; see if the other attacks had any survivors who might remember anything."

"Drop me off on the way. I'll get a cab back."

..**..

As fate would have it, there was a witness to one of the attacks. But Dean hadn't found out about her in any of the papers. He'd actually gotten the notion to talk to the front-desk clerk, where Sam had gotten the information first. And the witness? Mrs. Pilliwee, the desk-clerks wife.

Dean hadn't exactly been prepared to be talking to a little old lady, that day. She didn't seem all that thrilled about it, either. Her husband had sent a few of the convention-goers to talk to her; trying to strum up business, as if it was needed at the time, by having a connection to Sally's ghost.

"Now, Mrs. Pilliwee," Dean started, as they sat in two comfortable chairs in the private back office of the hotel. "I know you've been telling these kids that you saw Sally kill your friend, all those years ago. But my brother and I, we came here to help. And we know it wasn't Sally doin' the killing."

The old woman's eyes widened. "I...I don't know what you..."

"I think Sally saved you. And you were afraid to tell anyone what you really saw. You told the police it was a bear, right? Just like everyone else."

"I told them it was a ghost," she countered, stubbornly. "They didn't want to listen. Threatened me to get it straight, or I'd end up sent away to some loony bin. My father instructed me to go along with the bear story. Was nothing they could do to stop a ghost, anyhow," she turned her head away.

"Mrs. Pilliwee," Dean leaned forward a bit, "My brother and I can do something to stop it." She turned to look at him again. "But we need your help. We need to know exactly what happened, and who we need to be looking for."

She looked at him, as though trying to figure out whether or not he could be trusted. After a few long moments, she spoke, "It was...Sheriff Tutner," she told him, in a quiet voice. "At first, I thought we'd simply...run into one of the park sheriffs. But then I recognized his face; his picture is still up in the town's missing, or was then, anyway. And we'd heard the ghost stories. I'd seen that picture, and I knew it was him, up there."

"What did he do to your friend?" Dean asked.

"I didn't actually see him do anything. He separated us," she told him. "He..made us see things. I don't know how."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, scrunching his brows together.

"I mean, I was trying to find my friend, because I heard her going absolutely mad...calling out for her sister, like she was hurt, and she needed to help her. But her sister wasn't with us. She hadn't come."

"You think she was seeing her there?"

"I know she was," she told him. "Only because of what I saw, moments after I heard her start to scream."

"What'd you see?"

"My Harold," she told him, her eyes glassy. "I saw him being...torn apart in thin air, as if by invisible dogs." That made Dean's eye twitch. "But I...knew he wasn't there; that for whatever reason, I was seeing him there, just as my friend was seeing her sister. I knew I had to run, and that my friend had died up there because she refused to leave her sister there in harm's way. But I didn't need to run. Because that girl, Sally...she was suddenly there, in front of me; my vision of Harold left me, and then Sally disappeared, too. I think maybe to slow down Tutner, while I got away as fast as I could..." she seemed to take a moment to come out of her reverie. "Does that help?"

"It might," Dean replied. "Thank you." His cell rang in his pocket, right then. "Excuse me," he gave her a small smile as he got up out of his chair and took his phone out. "Hey," he answered, seeing it was Sam calling.

"I'm headed back up to the campsite with one of the deputies," Sam told him on the other line.

"You find something out?"

"His grandfather...just made a confession from his deathbed to the both of us. He and two of his deputies took Tutner out to the woods after his stepdaughter's death, knowing what he'd done. They lured him up there, telling him his wife was up there, in danger. Then they killed him. Buried his body."

"He tell you where?"

"Yeah. That's where we're headed now. It's not far from where Spangler and his groupies were camped out. Meet us there?"

"Heading out the door as we speak. Be careful, Sam."

..**..

"This is the spot," the deputy told Sam as they came up to where his grandfather had spoke of. "I still say he's just got dementia. My grandfather wouldn't kill a fly."

"Guess we'll find out," Sam said. "You got a shovel?"

"In the trunk," he turned and popped the trunk of the SUV they'd driven right up to the spot they'd been told about. "You really think there's a ghost up here killin' people?"

"You really think it's a bear?" Sam rose his brows as he took the shovel from the deputy. The deputy was quiet in response.

Sam started digging. Surprisingly, it didn't take him ten minutes to finally find something. The shovel hit the top of a skull. He got down on his hands and knees and started pulling the dirt away, and the deputy was quick to help, in light of the discovery.

"I can't...believe this," the deputy said. "We actually found Greg Tutner. I'm gonna have to get a team out here. This is all gonna have to be processed-"

"We have to salt and burn this," Sam interjected. "This is the reason for all the killings up here on the campgrounds!"

"But..."

"You know what happened. Your grandfather and his friends avenged a little girl's death. This guy...maybe it's not the way justice should've been served, but that's how it was dealt. Now, you can take these remains back with you, and turn your grandfather in, and the killings will still happen up here. Or he can remain a missing person. Or you can bring the burned remains back..."

"Did you hear that?" the deputy held a hand up, stopping Sam from talking, as he looked off into the woods.

"Hear what?"

"I could've sworn... There! Did you hear?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Oh god...it's Lucy..."

"Who?"

"My wife. What...why is she up here? Lucy!" he yelled out. "I'm gonna go find her. Sounds like she's hurt. Lucy!" he yelled again as he headed into the woods. Sam got a strange feeling, but then resumed pulling the dirt from the shallow grave.

"Sam!" a distant voice called, and Sam knew right away, it was Dean.

"Dean? Where are you?" he called out. The voice came from somewhere down where they'd driven up. "I'm up here, Dean!"

"Sam, help!"

Sam's blood ran cold, recognizing the panicked sound in his brother's voice. He dropped the shovel and took off running toward Dean's voice. "Dean! Dean, where are you? What's wrong?" And then he saw him...slumped on the ground, amidst the fallen leaves. Blood staining the front of his shirt, and dripping from his mouth.

"Sam...help..."

"Dean!"

..**..

"Sammy, where you at?" Dean called as he approached the Sheriff's SUV. He saw the open grave and discarded shovel, and dropped his duffel bag on the ground to dig out the lighter fluid and salt.

"Lucy, no!" Dean heard a man's voice, not far away, and saw a deputy in uniform, standing, looking at...seemingly nothing. But he looked afraid; terrified.

Dean didn't need to take another moment to see what it might be. He doused the bones in lighter fluid...

..**..

Sam watched in horror, glued to where he stood, as Dean screamed out in agony; wide gashes appearing on his chest and abdomen, much like when he'd been ripped apart by hellhounds... "No! Dean...no! Oh god...please..." suddenly he was able to move, and he scrambled toward his brother, just in time to catch his collapsing body in his arms. "Dean, it's gonna be okay... I found the bones. We'll just burn them...and everything...you're ...you'll be okay," he held him.

"S-Sam..." Dean's eyes closed.

"No...No, Dean...no...not now. Not now, Dean...God, please..." his chin shook as tears poured down his cheeks. He clung to his brother, tightly. Unwilling to go back to the bones. Wanting to join his brother...

..**..

"Hey!" Dean shook the deputy by the shoulders. "You with me?" he asked the frightened, confused man.

"Lucy..."

"It was a hallucination. She's fine. Where's Sam?"

"Lucy's...okay?"

"She's fine!" he repeated. "Where is Sam?"

"He uh...I left him at the grave site..." his sentence drifted off, and then they heard it...

Sam screamed.

As Dean made his way toward the sound, he interpreted the sound of that scream. He'd not heard it from Sam. It was one of anguish, of emotional pain, rather than physical. And when he found him sitting on his knees in the leaves, with a tear-soaked, devastated face, he could only guess that he'd also been a victim of the hallucination...

Moments earlier...

Sam watched as Dean's body suddenly was engulfed in flames, and simply vanished like sand in the wind. He was overwhelmed to the point that he couldn't even think. All he could do was scream out...

"Sam! Sammy, it's okay..." a voice started to register somewhere, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. "C'mon, kiddo. Open your eyes, okay?" He registered strong hands on his shoulders. And that voice...he knew that voice. "Sammy..."

Sam opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in attempt to focus through the blur of tears.

"Whatever you saw, Sam, it wasn't real. It was the ghost, somehow projecting images. Not sure why or...how, but-"

"D...Dean?" Sam's vision finally cleared enough to make out his brother before him.

"Yeah," Dean gave a relieved smile to have finally gotten him to respond.

"Dean..." his voice cracked, and his hands went to his brother, first to his face, then down his neck and shoulder and arms, "You...you're okay. You're not..."

"Whoa, Sammy. We've kinda got an audience," he grabbed onto Sam's hands.

"You're not dead," Sam finished.

"No, Sam. I'm not- is that..." he had wondered what Sam had seen. Now he knew. "Hey, let's get back to the hotel, okay? We'll get you cleaned up and rested." He stood, helping Sam to do the same.

"Dean," Sam pushed forward, wrapping his arms around Dean so tightly, the older brother could barely pull in a breath.

"Okay...okay, Sam...Come on."

"Sorry," Sam pulled away.

"It's okay. I'm sure you're in some kinda shock, or whatever. Let's get out of here, okay?"

"Yeah..."


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had spent the entire ride back to the motel, absentmindedly clinging to the bottom of Dean's shirt, from his seat. His arm had draped across the space between them, and simply grabbed on, as if he needed reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere. And Dean explained that it was just a hallucination; that this is what the other survivors had seen.

Sam had asked what, exactly, the others had seen, and Dean told him what the deputy saw; his wife being torn apart. And then told him about Harold's wife, how she saw her husband in the same fashion. To that, the younger questioned why Harold hadn't mentioned that to him before. Dean assumed it was because Harold and his wife had already gotten business from the Winchesters, and there was no need to advertise. But once they'd heard of the rise in deaths, they'd opened right up to Dean.

Sam seemed to accept that, and then he was staring at the windshield, again. Not out of it, but at it; a small smudge on the glass in the far bottom corner. His thoughts wavered back to the camp. And after a few silent moments, he said, "That's what I saw happen...to you." And it took Dean just a few moments to piece together what he was talking about. But once he did, his features fell. Sam had watched Dean die in the woods, that day. And not just die, but get torn apart by, what looked like invisible dogs. His current inner-torment was probably not just what happened today, but also a mixture of the trauma of watching Dean torn apart years ago, by hellhounds, taking him from this life for months. Taking him away from Sam...

And Sam had been changed by that, Dean all too well remembered.

He got them back to the hotel, and helped Sam inside, though he had been insistent that he was fine. But he'd proven himself wrong when he rose up out of the car and the world swam and tilted in his vision. Luckily Dean had already been there to grab hold of him, before he even started toward the asphalt.

"Just take a nap, Sam," Dean told him, as he gently pressed him to lay back on the bed. "I'll go get us some grub, and we'll take the rest of the day off, and everything will be okay. You'll feel better in no time."

"I'm not sick," Sam retorted. "Maybe a little tired...but that's all. An' I don't want anything from that diner."

Dean raised his brows, sensing a bit of Sam's attitude; the one he got when he had been expressly afraid on a hunt, and exhausted because of it all, and was trying to hide it from his big brother. But he hadn't seen this attitude in a long time, so it threw him back a bit.

He glanced over at the little kitchenette, then back to Sam. "Fine then. I'll go to the market and get some stuff there. There's a little fridge in here, so if you're okay to be here-"

"I'm fine!"

"Then I'll go pick up some beer, and grab you some...something. I dunno. I'll get stuff to make sandwiches. That work?"

"What about for breakfast?"

"Breakfast? That's tomorrow, dude. Alright, fine. I'll get cereal and milk."

"Lucky Charms."

"Are you being serious right now?"

Sam looked up at him with something that was a mix of confusion and a kicked puppy. "Why?"

"Never mind. I'll get Lucky Charms. Now, can you please...please just get some sleep, Sammy?" he asked, having calmed his voice, and looked at him pleadingly.

Seeing Dean's face, made Sam regretful of his attitude, and his own fell. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't start that again," Dean sighed, shaking his head.

"I'll go to sleep," Sam told him. "But...can you stay with me a little while? Just..." he felt slightly pathetic, but he needed him, "Just until I fall asleep? Please?"

Dean couldn't say no to that. "Sure, kiddo," he moved to lay in the space Sam made for him, feeling only slightly weird calling him 'kiddo', after the things they'd been doing. But he couldn't help it, because Sam was reminding him of how they were when they were kids. Sam was feeling vulnerable, and Dean was feeling protective. And somehow, that was okay, because he knew he could fix it this time.

They fell into place, as if there was a mold cut out for them in the mattress, in a position that they always went back to. Sam curled into Dean's chest, and Dean put an arm around him. Sam took a deep breath in through his nose, and Dean knew he was just absorbing his scent; another way to ground him into reality, only now it seemed it meant a lot more than it ever did before. Or did it? Did it always mean what it means now?

While Dean pondered that, he felt Sam drift off into unconsciousness. And as much as Dean wanted to stay, he knew he needed to make that run to the store. But he got an idea in his head, and he spotted Sam's laptop. He needed to do a little research, and then he'd set out for the store...

...***...

Dean had had to make a second stop, because the grocery store didn't have what he needed, though in hindsight, he felt foolish ever thinking he'd have been able to find such things there. But it hadn't taken long, thanks to some help from the clerk, to find what he needed, and then hurry back to the hotel before the food sat too long in the car.

Sam was still fast asleep. So Dean quietly brought the bags to the kitchenette area, made a plate full of sandwiches, and stuck them into the fridge, along with the milk and beer. Then he checked on Sam again, who hadn't so much as shifted in his sleep. Dean made the decision to grab the bag from the second stop, and head into the bathroom. The website said this might be easier in the shower, and that's what he intended to try...

...***...

Sam began to stir, at the squeaking of the shower faucet being turned off. His mind slowly wakened, recalling the events from earlier that day. He could feel his heart start racing with anxiety, even though he knew it was Dean in the bathroom. Even with the door closed, the slight aroma-carrying steam, seeping from under the door and out into the room, smelled of him. It gave Sam enough comfort not to fully panic.

Sam slowly pushed himself up, sitting back against the headboard, and brushed a hand down his face. He was entirely too gloomy about the fact that Dean wasn't still lying there with him. He knew it was stupid to feel that way. Dean had to go to the store, and Sam had only asked him to stay until he fell asleep. Still...he wanted Dean.

Just then, the bathroom door opened up, and a billowing cloud of steam rolled from the smaller room for just a moment, followed by Dean, clad in a towel he was holding around his waist. Sam tried to hide the relieved smile.

"You're up," Dean said, once seeing him sitting up on the bed. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Sam shook his head.

"You okay?" he asked, noticing Sam's gaze following him as he walked to his bag.

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Just...glad you're here."

Dean looked at him more scrupulously, realizing the lingering bits of anxiety that seemed to still radiate from his younger brother. He abandoned his original destination, and moved toward the bed. "'course I'm here," he told him, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, right beside him. Sam resisted the urge to grab onto him, and merely gave him a sheepish smile. Dean could tell it was up to him to bring Sam back from this reverie of emotion, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do, in order to achieve it. He'd hoped to feed Sam, first, but this seemed like the sooner, the better. Sandwiches could wait.

It felt a little strange, preemptively, he had to admit; the thought of comforting Sam through touch. Mostly, perhaps, because he wasn't sure how Sam would react to it. So, Dean did his best not to show his nervous hesitancy, as he reached his hand up to the side of Sam's neck and jawline, his thumb gently brushing Sam's cheek. "No where I'd rather be, Sammy," He told him, almost in a whisper, as leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Sam's. Then he pulled back, mere centimeters, and looked at Sam's closed lids for a moment.

"This hotel?" Sam asked, slightly dazed.

"With you," Dean replied, softly, before placing as soft a kiss to Sam's cheek. "Here with you," he told him, moving the gentle kiss down to his jaw, opposite where his hand sat on the other cheek.

"Oh," was all Sam could reply with, breathily, as he allowed himself to remain still, and simply let Dean do what he wanted. He felt Dean's lips plant gentle, almost infuriatingly soft kisses along his jaw, and up to his hairline beside his ear, then felt his mouth move to the corner of his eye, as Dean's other hand cupped the side of his face that had just been peppered with kisses, and the other dropped away from the neglected side of his face, to slide down to his neck where it met his shoulder. Dean resumed to plant as many kisses to the other side of Sam's face. "What...what are you doing, Dean?"

"I'm kissing you," Dean replied, softly, beside his ear.

"Why are you...kissing me like that?" he asked.

"Because I haven't kissed you in these places, yet," he told him. A shiver ran down Sam's spine, sparking a warm feeling in his stomach. "Don't worry. I'll just worry about your face, for now. Or we'd be here a while."

Sam's hands shot to Dean's arms, and he opened his eyes to meet his brother's, "I don't mind." Then he pushed forward, capturing Dean's mouth in a heated kiss. Sam's hands moved up Dean's arms, up to his shoulders, and down to his chest, where they splayed to explore. Somewhere in the back of his mind, too faint to be completely noticed with the fiery battle currently happening within their joined mouths, Dean was moving to straddle his lap.

When Sam felt Dean's hands pulling at the hem of his tee shirt, trying to get under it, to his skin, he moved forward enough to pull it off over his head, himself, and inadvertently opened his eyes as their lips parted. That's when he realized, consciously, Dean's position over him. And as Dean's hands roamed the skin of Sam's chest and stomach, diving back in to meet his lips with his own, Sam's hands pulled at the towel around Dean's waist.

Both their breathing sped up as the kiss immediately deepened. Dean's heart raced with anticipation at the plan he was about to carry out. He was nervous, but excited and almost too impatient for his own good. This was about Sammy. He had to keep reminding himself that.

He pulled away, as the towel slipped off with Sam's assistance. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked Sam in the eyes. "I love you, Sam...so much," he heard himself say. That hadn't even been part of the plan. But it felt so right, and the look Sam gave him in response, made him all the more glad his mouth sometimes spoke before he told it to.

With almost tears in his eyes, Sam replied, "God...I love you, too..."

Dean smirked, "Call me Dean."

Sam scrunched his face up for a moment, partly confused, and partly slightly aggravated that he would say something that belittled the sentiment. But he knew that hadn't been Dean's intention. It's just how Dean was. How could he possibly fault him that.

Instead, Sam reached up and gripped Dean's hair in both hands, as best as he could manage, and gave him a face of mock-agitation, before pulling his head back down to kiss him again. Dean groaned into it, as his hard cock, no longer restricted by the scratchy towel, made contact with the soft denim of Sam's worn jeans. He couldn't help but to reach down and cup Sam through them, just to be sure he wasn't the only one who'd reached this level. He found the hard length and squeezed, palming it, before moving his hand to flatten against Sam's stomach. It was Sam's turn to moan, and his hands released Dean's hair, traveled down the expanse of Dean's back, and down to his ass, where he squeezed and pulled him down against him as he thrust up to meet him.

But Sam's fingers grazed something there, between the firm, rounded cheeks. Something that...in all logic in his own mind, shouldn't be there. The fact that Dean sort of stiffened and shivered when Sam had touched it, made him pull from the kiss and look Dean in the eyes. "What's that?" he asked, curiously.

Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous. Suddenly feeling like maybe this was a bad idea; that it was strange and maybe Sam would think he was weird or something. But then there was this...flicker of realization in Sam's eyes, that Dean didn't miss. And he watched as the younger man's pupils widened, even further darkening his eyes, and his breathing was louder; his whole body seeming to tense and relax all at the same time.

"I did it for you," Dean said, quickly; quietly, as he was unsure how that would sound. "I...I wanted to...ya know, give you... I... I wanted you to know that...I'm as much yours, as you are mine," his eyes finally met Sam's again. He was relieved that there wasn't anything written on the younger's face, like...amusement or ridicule. This was as chick-flick a moment as Dean had ever had with anyone...well, aside from a chick. And even then, it'd never been this important. The fact that it wasn't freaking him out at all, was kinda...well, freaking him out.

But then, Sam says, "Show me," in the hottest way Dean thinks he's ever seen anyone say anything. And he finds himself turning around, after dismounting Sam's lap. Before he can bend over to display himself, Sam's hand is on his back, leading him down, and he has to catch himself with his hands, so his face doesn't plant the mattress.

Dean clamps his eyes shut, hoping that it looks okay; that it isn't weird or gross or... whatever. He thinks about what he did in the bathroom, to prepare. The website told him it was polite to do an enema. He had done two of them, mostly because he wasn't sure if he'd done it right the first time, plus he'd assumed at the time that it would've felt a lot more awkward if that morning's events hadn't happened. But it wasn't nearly as odd as he'd figured. It was actually kind of nice. Then, in the shower, he'd lubed and stretched himself like they'd instructed, and inserted the bright blue-colored plug that he'd picked out at the specialty shop; the plug that had most closely resembled the girth of Sam's hard cock. He tried to imagine what that might look like to Sam, right now; what his asshole looked like, stretched around that bright blue-

His thoughts were cut short, as he felt Sam's hand brace on his lower back, and the plug being gently pulled from his body. He grunted as it popped out, and the empty feeling was suddenly extremely disappointing. But then...then there was another feeling, that he quickly came to realize was Sam's mouth. Sam's tongue.

"Oh god...oh god..." Dean's body shuddered at the unexpected pleasurable sensation. It made his stomach muscles quake, and his cock jump with excitement. His face ended up in the mattress, anyway.

"Look at you," Sam said, breathlessly, pulling his mouth from Dean's decidedly delicious asshole, and nipping the flesh of Dean's ass cheek. "So stretched and open...just for me..."

"Only for you, Sam," Dean told him, pressing back, looking for more...more something; anything Sam wanted to do. Fortunately for Dean, Sam seemed to want to go back to what he'd just been doing. And Dean fisted the sheets in one hand, and made a fist with the other, in which he took to biting down on just to keep himself from some percentage of the slightly embarrassing moaning this was drawing out of him. He felt like a Skinamax chick, and momentarily wondered if this was the equivalent of what it felt like for a chick to get eaten out.

That made him think about women. Did Sam do this for a girl? Or was he thinking about the strategy of pussy-eating, and applying it to this? Would Sam miss pussy? Would he want girls still? Wait...would he? No... Dean didn't need anything or anyone but Sam. Right? He was pretty sure. Why the hell was he thinking about this right now?

Sam had stopped. Why had he stopped? Dean opened his eyes just as he felt Sam shifting on the bed. He turned around, shakily toppling a bit onto his side, and saw Sam shimmying out of his jeans. "Where is it?" Sam asked. "The lube?"

"Bathroom," Dean supplied. Sam nodded, moving to get out of the bed, and immediately falling to the floor, as his jeans were still wrapped awkwardly around his ankles. "You okay?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"Yeah," Sam's voice cracked, embarrassed at what had just happened, and kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, before giving Dean a sheepish smile and taking off toward the bathroom again.

The few moments Dean had alone, he was unsure of how to position himself. But Sam seemed to have some kind of idea what he was doing. In fact, Sam seemed to know...a lot about what he was doing. That morning, with the blow job, and the fingers...knowing exactly what to do. Now the rimming? And he had known what the plug was...

"Hey, you okay?" Dean was pulled from his reverie as Sam's voice sounded in front of him. Somehow, Sam had managed to come back in and climb into the bed to kneel in front of him, without him even realizing it.

"Have you done this before?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"That night...you said you'd never been on the receiving end, before. But have you done this?"

"With a dude? No," Sam told him, then studied Dean's face, noting the insecurity in it. Was he...was he jealous? He was jealous! Of the possibility that he wasn't Sam's first! But Sam knew that saying that out loud, even lightheartedly, might end this evening, completely. And trying to simply defend himself, he wasn't sure if that'd be as effective. He'd try a different strategy. "Dean, how did you know how to stretch yourself, or use that plug?" he wouldn't mention the empty enema packages he saw in the trashcan in the bathroom.

Dean blushed a bit. "Website," he motioned toward Sam's laptop.

Sam smirked, "Where do you think I figured out the basics of what we've been doing?"

Dean got an incredulous look on his face, "You googled how to give a rim job?"

"Actually...I watched some porn," Sam confessed, a bit embarrassed.

"How did you manage that, without me knowing?"

"We haven't spent every moment together, this past couple of days."

Dean seemed to mull that over for a few moments. Then he looked back up at Sam, "So you watched gay porn? For educational purposes?"

Sam shrugged, "Kinda worked, didn't it?"

"Did you...ya know...get off?"

"Actually I...kinda wasn't so much into the guys," Sam told him. "Guess I'm just...into you."

"Best answer ever," Dean replied, diving forward and capturing Sam's mouth in a heated kiss; his arms folding around him in the process.

Sam laughed into the kiss, pushing back against the force of Dean's dive, and effectively pushing Dean down onto his back. Foreheads touching, Sam pulled from the kiss, "You thought you wouldn't be the first. You were jealous," he smiled, affectionately, yet cockily at the same time, and Dean couldn't figure out quite how he'd managed to pull that off.

"Shut up," Dean replied, gruffly.

"I would've told you, if I'd done this. It's not like you're some bar hookup," he told him, in between kisses.

"Yeah...I know," Dean replied, feeling a bit of regret at having even thought it, now. He gently put his hands on either side of Sam's face. "I'm sorry."

Sam smiled, lightly, letting out a hint of a laugh, as though to say the apology wasn't necessary. Dean moved to kiss him, but Sam pushed him back down. "Would it have made a difference?" he asked him. "If I'd been with a guy before? Would that change this?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, then met Sam's eyes again, shaking his head, without doubt, "No. No it wouldn't change this."

"Good," Sam replied. Then he leaned down and kissed Dean, but it was slow and sweet, and slowly grew in heat, speed and desperation, until they were right back where they were before Sam had gone to fetch the lube. Only, Dean was on his back, instead of his knees, and Sam was planted between his spread legs, only his boxers separating them.

Dean felt impatient, now, as Sam seemed to be taking his sweet time getting to the point. So he reached down between them, his hand sliding under the waistband of Sam's boxers, and quickly finding the hard, hot cock beneath them, giving it a nice squeeze and then a few strokes, pulling a groan from the younger man.

Sam's mouth pulled from Dean's, and he tucked his face into his brother's neck, "Want you, so bad, Dean..."

"Then take me," Dean said through clenched teeth. Sam made a sound in the back of his throat, as he bit the side of Dean's neck, just like he had in that warehouse, and Dean nearly lost it.

Sam was grinding down against him, one hand yanking down his boxers, trying not to break any contact with his brother, until their cocks were sliding against each other without barrier. Sam managed to kick off the boxers, the rest of the way, without losing the rhythm.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean writhed beneath him. "Please..."

"I..." Sam swallowed as he looked Dean in the eye, "I just...want it to be good for you. I wanna make it good for you," he seemed worried, like he'd not be as good at this part.

This, for some reason, made Dean feel marginally less inadequate. But not any less anxious to get Sam inside him. "Sammy, I know this is gonna be awesome, okay? Now...you know what to do, so...just come on. Just do it," he spread his legs even farther, bending his knees until his feet were flat on the mattress.

Sam nodded, and reached for the bottle of lube, pouring some into his palm and then stroking it over himself a few times, before lining the head of his cock at Dean's hole. His eyes met Dean's.

Dean was suddenly nervous again, but he knew he needed to relax. And when Sam began to slowly sink into him, he realized how different this was to that morning. This was so much easier, prepared. And once Sam was fully seated, it was like they fit together perfectly, and they were amazed at how easy it had been.

They laid there for a long moment, unmoving, looking at each other as if to acknowledge that they were both feeling the same thing. Dean felt more than just full; he felt complete. And the chick-flick Jerry Maguire neon sign went off in his head at the thought, but he pushed all that away, and concentrated on Sam. Sammy, hovering over him like Cinderella had just slipped into her long-lost glass slipper. That thought made Dean smirk.

Seeing Dean's smile, Sam was jolted back into reality. He was inside of Dean. Inside of Dean, and this was absolutely awesome. It was warm, almost hot, really. It was different than when he'd done this with Jess. This meant something more...and it just felt overall...better.

He looked at Dean's mouth, right as the older Winchester bit down on his bottom lip, letting it slowly slide loose from his teeth. This made something uncoil inside of Sam, and he positioned himself a bit different, like he'd seen in the movies he'd watched online; the position that was more often the trigger of orgasms for the bottom. He sat up on his knees, spreading his legs a bit, and pulled Dean further into his lap, so he could penetrate him again, and this got an immediate cry out from Dean. Sam smiled, proudly.

"You're so tight, Dean," he told him, running his hands up Dean's thighs, until he met his waist, and started up a rhythm. "Feels so good. Can't believe...can't believe you did this for me... That you...wanted me to..."

"Fuck, Sam, just...fuck..." he didn't want him to talk anymore. Not right now. He just wanted him to fuck him. He wanted to watch Sam get off, and fuck all if he didn't need to come, himself, real damn soon. He wrapped his hand around himself, and started stroking in tandem with Sam's thrusts.

Sam wanted to kiss him; to hold him, and this position didn't really make that possible. So he reached down and pulled Dean up, until their chests met, and he was face to face with a shocked-to-suddenly-be-in-the-position Dean. They hadn't broken contact, and the strange new angle hit something erogenous in Dean.

Sam's arms squeezing around him, and crushing their mouths together, only seemed to intensify it, and Dean found himself directing some of the motion of his hips, effectively riding Sam, though Sam never stopped thrusting up into him. He didn't know how long they did it, until the pressure was building up so hot and hard, that he couldn't hold himself upright any longer, and he felt himself bowing backward, losing all strength except to catch himself on his hands behind him, as Sam only seemed to slam all the harder into him.

And then Sam's hand was on his cock, pumping with a perfection that took a mere few strokes before both of them were coming; Dean shouting and the intensity that surpassed that morning by ten-fold. His body jerked; quaked with the electricity that flowed through him. And even through all of this, he could hear Sam's cries of pleasure, and feel the liquid heat that filled him, before his arms completely gave out, and he collapsed to the mattress, and everything went suddenly and magnificently black...


	10. Chapter 10

Dean drifted back into consciousness, slowly, reveling in the feel of the warm, strong arm draped across his chest, and the fingers lazily tracing little scars along his shoulder and collarbone. As he became more aware, he also realized there was hot breath against his other shoulder, and a leg draped over one of his. He could smell Sam, though he didn't need to, to know it was him.

He smiled and cracked open his eyes, turning his head toward his younger brother, just as Sam picked his head up and met his eyes. "Hey," Dean said.

Sam smiled for a moment, but it faltered slightly, mixed with concern, "You okay?"

Dean let out a small laugh, "Think so."

"I figured either it was really good, or I broke you," he told him.

"I doubt you could break me, Sammy," Dean smirked.

"I was holding back, a bit," Sam lowered his tone, and moved a bit closer, leaning in to steal a kiss, nipping at Dean's lower lip as he pulled back.

"No need, on my account," Dean's voice inadvertently cracked. He needed to break eye contact with Sam, for a moment. It was like the man radiated pure lust. It was hard not to respond to it. As he assessed himself, he realized that Sam had cleaned them both up, and draped a sheet over them, where they lay. "How long was I out?"

"Maybe five minutes," Sam replied. "Actually, I wasn't paying attention, once I laid back down. Too busy thinking."

"Yeah?" Dean turned his head again, furrowing his brow, slightly. "What about?"

"This," he replied. "Us. Just...thinking about things."

"An' what things might that be?" Dean asked, curious about the look in Sam's eyes. But Sam smiled a bit shyly, and ducked his head a bit. "Oh no, you don't get to do that," Dean found himself grinning as he reached over dug his fingers into Sam's side, tickling him, succeeding in getting a quick jerk and a yelp of surprise from the younger man.

"It's..." Sam grabbed onto Dean's wrist to hold him back from further tickling, "You might...think it's..."

"Hey," Dean twisted his arm around so that he was the one holding Sam's wrist, and looked him in the face. He was concerned that Sam had been thinking about what he'd seen in the woods; about mortality and the possibility of losing each other. "Just tell me. It's okay."

"I..." his eyes flitted around in the air between them, before Dean let go of his wrist, slightly concerned, and Sam tucked his face in between the mattress and Dean's ear.

"Look, Sammy, whatever it is, I'm not gonna judge you, okay?"

"I really like making you come," Sam said quietly, but right against his ear, so really it was kinda loud to Dean. And he wasn't sure if it was what he'd said, or how he'd said it, but it was almost like the tunnel in his ear was directly connected down to his cock, because that's how far Sam's hot breath traveled.

"Uh...you like...um...I mean, I like...doing that to you, too, Sam," Dean stuttered out, unable to move from his current, seemingly frozen position.

"I mean I...really like it, Dean," Sam told him in the same fashion. Bastard must've known how it was effecting him, now. "I like watching you, when it happens. I like...the way you twitch, right before it happens. Not just your cock, but..." Dean's mind did a sort of jolting short-circuit when Sam said that word, and so zoned out, unintentionally, for a moment, "...whole body. I like seeing your face and hearing the sounds you make when you come. I like it all, Dean. I'm addicted."

Dean pushed at Sam, quickly spinning him onto his back and holding him down by his wrists as his chest pressed into his, "You should stop, Sam. You've got no idea what you're doing to me, right now."

The corners of Sam's mouth curved up. "Sure I do," he pressed his hips up into Dean.

Dean growled. "Sam... C'mon. You might still be in your prime, but I think I might need a little more than five minutes after unconsciousness, to recover."

"Did you just..." Sam laughed in pause, "Admit that you're too old to get it up any time soon?"

"Wh- no!" Dean's eyes widened.

"I'm pretty sure that's what you just said."

"Does this feel like I can't get it up?" Dean dragged Sam's hand down between them, just as Sam was hoping, and he was ready to grip the hard shaft his fingers came in contact with. Dean let out a groan as his brother squeezed him.

"I guess I was wrong," Sam said, stroking him as he spoke. "What is it you were saying, then?"

"I uh...I...damn it, Sam," Dean pulled Sam's hand away, so he could think. "I just meant..." he thought for a moment, trying to recall what his point had been. Oh. Right. "I made us some lunch, ya know, before you woke up. You've gotta be hungry. I know I definitely need to refuel."

"Lunch?" Sam, for a moment, seemed to think the word alien. His stomach seemed to register it, before his brain. An obnoxiously loud grumble came from his abdomen, and that seemed to make him catch on.

Dean smiled down at him, "Yeah, you're hungry alright." He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Sam's lips before pushing up, and rolling out of the bed. "I'll grab the sandwiches and we'll eat in bed, okay?"

Sam pushed to sit up, as he thought about that. "What about crumbs?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Seriously? I got us some paper plates, dude. Stop worrying about crumbs," he pulled on his discarded boxers that were on the floor. Then he found Sam's, wedged between the bed and side table, and threw them at him, "Put these on, or we'll never get through lunch." Sam gave him an amused look, but slipped them on. Dean looked him over, and decidedly grabbed a tee shirt and threw that at him as well. "This, too." Sam shook his head, but smiled and pulled the shirt on over his head, as Dean went to the kitchenette.

Dean grabbed a couple extra paper plates, a hand towel and two beers, with the plate of sandwiches, and brought it all back to the bed. Sam took the plates from him, so Dean could set the beers on the night stand and sit down.

"So," Sam started as he grabbed one of the sandwiches from the middle plate, "How long you think we'll be staying here?"

"I dunno," Dean said, then took a large bite of his sandwich. "Figured we could stay a while," he said with a full mouth. "Place has kinda grown on me." He swallowed down the mouthful of food and took another bite of the sandwich, glancing over at Sam, when he remained silent. Sam was looking at him funny, which made Dean do a bit of a double-take. "What?" he asked.

"You; wanting to stay put somewhere, when a job's finished? You feeling okay?"

"You're funny," Dean cocked his head, then turned back to his meal.

"Or maybe your ass hurts, and you wanna wait a while-"

"My ass is fine, thank you very much," he replied, unfazed, finishing off his sandwich, and twisting open his beer.

"You did do a really good prep job," Sam agreed, taking a large bite of his sandwich. Dean pretended to ignore him, and took a very long drink from the bottle as Sam started digging through the rumpled up sheets. "Where is it?" Sam mumbled under his breath, then shoved the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth, so he had another free hand.

"What're you lookin' for?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer, until he found it, and held it up between them. "This," the blue plug still glistened with lube.

Dean swallowed. "W-why did you need to find that?" he asked, eyes darting from the object to Sam's eyes and back.

"I think I should put it back where I found it," Sam told him in that voice...that fucking voice that got to Dean every single time. Dean said nothing, though; just looked at him, attempting to look unaffected. Sam leaned in a bit closer, "I think you should keep it in, and take me to the place where you bought it. Because I'd like to pick up a few things, too," he said, his mouth so close to Dean's ear, that all he had to do was speak in almost a whisper as he continued.

"Like..." Dean cleared his throat, when his voice cracked, and tried again, "Like what?"

Sam smiled, where Dean couldn't see him, and shifted his body closer. "Like, a cock ring," he told him. "Not for you," he elaborated. "I'd never stop you from coming." A shiver ran down Dean's spine, and his eyes clamped closed. "I need it for me, because I can't help myself; when I hear you come, I can't stop myself from coming, too...'cause you're so damn hot, Dean. You're so gorgeous when you come, and I can't get enough." Dean's hand squeezed so hard around the bottle of beer in his hand, he was surprised it didn't shatter. "An' I wanna make you come over and over; wanna make it so good for you, Dean. So will you?"

Dean blinked his eyes open, realizing he'd just been asked a question. "W-what?"

"Will you do it?"

"Do what?" Dean asked, realizing Sam's hand was on his thigh, now.

"Will you let me put this back in, and then take me to that store," he repeated, moving his hand slowly up toward Dean's straining erection, through his boxers. All he could do was nod, and as soon as he did, Sam's hand was on him, stroking him hard through the fabric. Dean fumbled to get his beer to the side table. "Get on your hands and knees," Sam told him. Dean found himself obeying, without a second thought, and somehow, following Sam's commands made him feel even more turned on, instead of what he'd normally feel, which would be disempowered.

Dean felt his boxers shoved down as far as they'd go, with him positioned that way. He waited, hearing the unmistakeable sound of the lube being opened, and then the tip of the plug at his entrance, at the same time Sam's hand wrapped around his shaft, slicking it up with lube as well.

"Sam...please," he nearly whimpered. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me..."

He grunted, pleasantly, as the plug slid into place; Sam's hand working expertly on his hard cock. But then he stopped. "Wait," he told Dean. "I have an idea. Lie down on your back."

Dean didn't really have the mental capacity, in the moment, to question him. He simply turned over onto his back, and waited for whatever Sam had in mind. But then Sam was straddling him, somehow naked again, and Dean suddenly understood what was going to happen. "Sam?"

"Ssh," Sam draped himself down over him, kissing him for a moment, before lowering to his ear again, "I need it, Dean. Need you in me."

"Jesus, Sam," his hands scrambled up to grab him by either side of his head. "Anyone ever tell you you're a slut?"

Sam let out a laugh, at this, and looked Dean in the eyes, before saying, "You love it," in that...way. And he dove in to kiss him, ferociously, as he sank down onto Dean's cock with ease. Both of them groaned into each others mouths.

They kissed until there wasn't breath available to continue, and Sam pushed upright, thighs tightening at the sides of Dean's waist as he began riding him. Dean's hands traveled up Sam's thighs until they met his hips, feeling the muscles in them work as he moved over him.

Sam really was beautiful. Dean's eyes roamed over his brother's toned chest and abs, with desire. They weren't as buff as they had been a year ago. In fact, Sam had lost a great deal of muscle-weight, after getting his soul back. But he was strong and lean, and gorgeous; every inch of him. Dean wished he could be as open with those kind of thoughts, as Sam was. Sam was an animal in bed, Dean had come to discover. And normally, Dean was pretty intense as well. But it seemed that with Sam, Dean was shy; timid to a point. It was like Sam struck him speechless and completely stupid. Or maybe just dumb, because Dean could still think. Hell, he was thinking now. And...well shit. Not anymore...

Because suddenly, Sam was reaching behind him, playing with that plug in Dean's ass, and somehow magically finding out what to do with it, to make it scrape against his prostate. And all of Dean's thought process flew out the window.

He had just enough mind left to grab onto Sam's glistening cock and start stroking him, like this was a race; who could get the other one off first.

It wasn't fair. This isn't fair. But it was...because they both had equal stimulation points, and both of them were on the brink, thrusting into and onto each other; backs bowed and heads thrown back, desperately trying to fight that instinct, because they wanted, more than anything, to watch the other.

In the end, they relied on their sense of hearing. Neither of them were quiet, when orgasm hit. Every time, it had been shouting and moaning and just simply...no holding back. This was no different. And as he felt Sam's come on his skin, as far up as his chin, he had the fleeting thought of gladness that he'd not gotten dressed before lunch...

Once again, Sam had cleaned them up; Dean seemingly paralyzed where he lay, watching him in awe. How the hell was Sam so damn energetic after these things?

"Come on," Sam said, rolling out of the bed. "We should hurry up, or we'll never leave this room again." He slipped on his boxers, then his jeans.

"You can't give me fifteen minutes?" Dean asked, pushing himself up to sit.

"Last time I gave you that long, what happened?" Sam asked, before slipping his shirt on over his head. He picked up Dean's clothes as the older brother thought about that.

"What makes you think it won't be the same thing, once we get back here?" Dean asked, as Sam tossed him his clothes.

"Oh, it will be," Sam replied. "Only, we'll have everything we need." Dean just looked at him for a long moment. Sam seemed pleased with himself. Dean was both scared, and more excited than he'd been about anything in a really long time.

Sam glanced over toward the kitchenette, as he sat down to slip on his shoes. "You got Lucky Charms, right?"

FIN~


End file.
